


Alight

by TakethePage



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Original Fiction, Shameless Smut, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-21 01:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10674717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakethePage/pseuds/TakethePage
Summary: Our story begins a week after Nesta is changed by the Cauldron. She and Elain reside within Velaris with the Circle, learning about their new abilities and with Nesta, her new bond to Cassian.Welcome to another Nessian Trashcan! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Please be gentle, I'm new here.





	1. Chapter 1

_Coward. I am a coward._

Nesta clutched her head in the corner of her lavishly furnished room in Rhys’s personal home in Velaris, feeling utterly defeated. Selfishly sorry for herself, as if she had any right. New, too-long fingers raked through her matted hair and down the nape of her neck. Even that made her cringe. She felt wholly _wrong_.

It had been seven days since the Cauldron. Seven days of playing the same events on loop inside her mind; hands drowning Elain, hands drowning her, inky black water filling spaces inside her she hadn’t known existed until then. Like being finally complete, the missing puzzle piece inserted into its rightful place. She wanted to take an ice pick to the piece and pry it free. And then she wanted to take it to the tether inside her mind linking her to the one person she never wished to see again.

_Cassian_. It seemed a cruel twist of fate removing any and all choice from her life, a series of improbable circumstances which ultimately led to the verdict of ‘mate’. The gavel that hammered that same puzzle piece with permanence.

Nesta hadn’t known what it was at first, only that once she emerged as something new and her eyes met Cassian’s, she felt a _click_ – like a string being plucked, making itself aware with a mighty vibration that sent a shiver through not only her, but him, even as he hung limply in his friends’ arms.

The tether pulsed angrily for the thousandth time that week, pounding into her skull as she felt the raging pain Cassian was still experiencing. Morrigan had informed her, while showing Nesta her room that first night, that recovery would be slow. She didn’t know where they were keeping Cassian and Azriel, but wherever Cassian was he was decidedly hurting.

Reaching deep, she imagined a knob attached to her mind and twisted until the noise was no more than a murmur. Amren had offered to train her in the art of blocking out mental infiltration, but she was too weak and clumsy on her new limbs to show herself after the third morning when she’d stumbled into the kitchen and proceeded to knock an expensive tea set off the counter in front of the remaining circle members, much to her chagrin. Head hung low, Elain – who had adjusted to her new Fae body quite quickly – helped her up the stairs to her room, where she stayed for days after.

She knew she was being cowardly but she had lost her sisters, one to the High Lord of the Spring Court, and another to this new _species_ of being. Her stubborn mind refused to completely eliminate her free will, and if the only choice she had was whether she spent her time alone or war-planning with the others… well she’d chose alone.

A soft rap sounded at her door, and standing on wobbly legs, she answered to find Elain leaning hesitantly on the balls of her feet. “Hi,” she said meekly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Nesta replied, hurriedly pushing back her wild hair and opening the door wider.

“I thought Cerridwen and Nuala could run you a bath,” Elain said while immediately setting herself to tidying Nesta’s bed, not an easy task as it was currently a lump of sheets and blankets from tossing and turning the night before. Elain. Ever the caretaker. “And then maybe you could join Rhys and I in our morning lessons,” she tossed over her shoulder hopefully.

Nesta got the point – _stop hiding._ Something about that felt like a choice in itself, like accepting this arrangement.

“Sure,” she resigned. “Send them in.” Once she spoke the words, the sound of running water and the smell of lavender wafted toward her from the attached bathing room. _Of course, they were waiting for the go ahead to magically manifest, those wraiths._ “As for lessons… I’m not sure they mentioned that being a requirement when we agreed to stay here.”

She didn’t think she’d ever be ready to accept the new power limning through her veins, a call that demanded an answer. More than once, she’d awoken to strips of visual energy encircling her arms, waiting to be released. Nesta quickly smothered them in blankets and begged her own body to _stop… please stop._ Even as the glow pulsed for hours with readiness.

Elain looked up from fluffing a pillow back into shape, a deep crease forming between her lovely brows. “Technically, we never agreed for any of this to happen. But it did, Nesta. I think it’s best we learn how to harness our power so that when war comes, because it _is_ coming, we can be useful.”

“It’s not _our_ war, Elain.”

“You heard what the queens said! They’re not concerned with villages like ours. They’re ready to allow families, our neighbors, die like waste. Are you prepared to have that weigh on your conscience?” Elain’s eyes were alight with a new emotion for her: fury.

Nesta stood stunned, one hand paused in the act of straightening her coverlet, and met her baby sister’s determined gaze. “I…”

“I know it’s scary,” Elain said in a hushed tone. “But it’s _who_ we are now. Morrigan and Amren can help us, and when Azriel and Cassian get better they can help us, too. Plus,” she tossed over her shoulder on her way out of the room, “The males are almost fully recovered. Rhysand was able to procure a salve this morning to lessen the damage. We should see them tonight.” _So soon._

 Before Nesta could muster a response, she heard her door shut with a _snick_. The brutal reality began to set in: her baby sister was adjusting to not only her new body, but this entire warped situation, better than she was. _Coward_ clattered through her mind once again, and she leaned against her bed’s post, head tilted toward the heavens for some assistance. No one was listening, though. They never were.

“Lady Nesta.” She jumped to find Cerridwen and Nuala waiting in the bathing room, watching her carefully. As if _she_ was something to watch. Mother, maybe she was. “The bath is ready. We will leave you,” Cerridwen said before they both dissipated to go wherever it was they went.

Clumsy fingers unlatched her bodice and slipped the ties from her skirts until they were pooled at her feet. Refusing to look down at her elongated body, Nesta strode to the bath and lowered herself with a hiss, reveling in the hot water.

The pool sat beneath a massive skylight and she allowed herself to tilt her head back to watch as the nearby trees swayed in the wind. A bluebird, caught in a downdraft, perched safely on the roof and looked down to meet Nesta’s eyes. How strange that such a beautifully ordinary creature could exist in this corner of the world. A corner of the world not many knew about before the queens had disclosed the secret to the King of Hybern. A surge of unadulterated anger flashed through her, flowing through her hands until the bath was alight. She quickly snuffed it out.

It seemed like a year ago, when it was mere weeks. The day Rhysand had allowed humans to see his hidden paradise in the hopes of allying his court with the human queens. He’d had trusted that they would make the right choice. The fate of so many humans rested on the destruction of the Cauldron, but alas, they’d chosen a side already. The wrong one. Nesta wondered idly what the King’s price was for their information.

As a result of their betrayal, Velaris was forced to rebuild and bury their dead for the first time in centuries. She sometimes watched from her window as shop owners and neighbors helped each other repair roofing and clean the streets, celebrating their work at night with candles lit and feasts set on long tables that lined the streets. Many times, she’d leave the window open to allow their lilting music to drift in and greet her. It eased the loneliness, and a part of her knew she should help. They weren’t her people, but they’d been hurt by the same hand.

Suddenly it was too quiet in her rooms, and she tentatively reached inside her mind to turn the proverbial knob. It too was silent. Odd, since she couldn’t remember a time during that week when it didn’t thrum with pain. Maybe he was asleep. Eyes shut, Nesta reached to feel the taut bond. It shuddered in response and she promptly withdrew back into the shadows of her psyche.

Towels appeared by her side on the lip of the bath, and she got the hint that it was time to get out. The lavender-scented water had long since run cold anyway. Wrapping herself in the plush comfort of a warmed towel, Nesta wondered if this was how she was to live her life now: with things appearing as needed, never wanting for anything. The thought unsettled her, however innocent the gesture had been.

She walked to her chamber to find fighting leathers laid ceremoniously on her bedspread. Hands fisting, she blasted a thought to anyone who would listen that if they thought she’d dress in something so… _Illyrian_ , they had another thing coming. Flinging open the wardrobe doors, she selected the loveliest dress she could find - a silk rose gown with ribbons cross-hatched to form a bodice. If Nesta was resigning herself to training, she’d make it wildly clear that it wouldn’t be within their mold.

She gathered her unbound hair over one shoulder, and after struggling with tying the twenty or so ribbons at her back to secure herself in the dress, she gathered the skirts and crept to the hall. Taking a steadying breath, she held to the stair’s banister as she made her way to the entryway.

For a moment, at the bottom of the stair, she allowed herself to the observe the quiet home. Strange as it was, it looked _lived_ in, like a real home. A fire lit the living room, accentuating the crimson and cream tones the rugs and pillows were dressed in. Behind her, a pathway led to a wide kitchen, and beyond that the courtyard. 

Nesta saw a flash of silver and a clang resounded from beyond the courtyard doors. Suddenly she was running. _Elain._ She burst through the doors to find Rhysand, Morrigan and Elain sparring. Blades swung wide and Morrigan leaped back to evade Elain’s clumsy swipe. “No, my dear,” Morrigan chided. “Like this.” She took Elain’s hand in her own and thrust the blade forward with finality.

This certainly was an alternate universe. “What are you doing,” Nesta exclaimed, garnering the attention from the trio.

“Nesta!” Elain ran to wrap her arms around Nesta’s neck, succeeding in knocking the wind from her lungs as she collided with her. Elain stood back to smile up at her. “I’m so glad you’re here! Though, what are you wearing? Surely you didn’t think you could train in a dress?”

“Not everyone is happy to adorn themselves in Fae garb, Elain,” she said disapprovingly, taking notice of her sister’s leathers.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and she looked up to meet the gaze of Rhys and Morrigan. Mor, to her defense, looked mildly sympathetic. “I see where Feyre acquired her stubbornness from,” Rhysand scoffed. For a moment, pain flashed behind his eyes. _Feyre._ Yes, she was very interested in hearing the part of the plan in which they got _her_ back.

“Well,” Nesta replied breezily. “If I can’t fight in a dress, I surely won’t be useful when we return. It’s not the norm for ladies such as Elain and I to traipse around the village in those outfits,” she gestured vaguely to her sister.

“I doubt the ladies you speak of are similar to you in any way now,” Rysand spat defensively. He gestured toward the points of his ears as if to signal Nesta that they shared that, among other things, in common. Her hands went reflexively to cover her own. “You know my thoughts on returning. But, all the same, you are not a prisoner here Nesta,” he said more gently this time. “You and Elain are free to return at any time. Just say the word and it is done.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched past the high gate fencing in the courtyard, out into the streets of Velaris.

She felt a hand on her arm, and glanced sidelong to meet Elain’s eyes. Something like fierce hurt shaded her gaze, and another piece of Nesta’s humanity crumpled in on itself.

“I know this is an adjustment,” Mor murmured from behind Elain. “We just wish to help you in any way you’ll let us, but there is a time and place for pride. And this is not it.”

Still looking at her sister, Nesta sighed and descended the stairs onto the lush grass. She suddenly wished she could spend the day in the sun, burying her toes in the ground, swaying with the trees. Like Mor said, though: there was a time and place. And she wasn’t sure if it would ever be time for that again.

“I’m here, and I’m ready,” she said to them, as much as herself. Reaching down, she collected a discarded blade on the ground and took her stance.

“I think it’s best to discuss your… abilities first,” Mor said behind her. Nesta turned to find her covering a smile. _So this was funny, was it?_

“Okay, abilities first,” Nesta replied with a smirk. She closed her eyes and willed for the spark inside her to flare to life. It responded immediately, like a dam trickling over, and swirled around her.

She heard Elain’s gasp amid her power thrumming a chant of _release, release, release_. No, not yet. “Nesta,” Elain howled. “Turn it off!”

But a storm was raging inside her. A storm of loneliness and anger, and she found she could no longer hear anything but her own desire to break the dam fully. To release and destroy herself and everything around her.

No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want to rid the world of Elain, or anyone else in Velaris. It wouldn’t listen, though. It pulsed with a new ferocity, widening the eye of the storm.

“You are the master of your power, Nesta,” she heard Mor call. “Pull it back!”

A finger stroked her mind gently, bestowing the words _fold it in._ Like folding one corner of a blanket to the other, she repeated that thought, reigning the light until just a sliver sparked from her fingers. She was thoroughly wind-blown and exhausted.

Not meeting the eyes of the others, she turned and briskly walked back toward the stairs, attention kept at her feet. Tears welled, but she sniffed them back. On the top stair, she collided with a wall of stone. Looking up dazedly, she found Cassian peering down at her – alarm tainting his eyes. _Cassian._ Brown eyes met grey. The bond tugged painfully. Nesta saw him cringe in response.

_Yeah. Got it._

Attempting to breeze past him was a futile effort as his large hands bracketed her arms to hold her in place. “Nesta.” Hearing him again was like a stab to the gut, though she couldn’t understand why.

“Just let me go,” she said furiously. “Let me go!” Azriel appeared at his side, and he snapped out of his daze, dropping his hands. She refused to meet his stare again as she ran into the house.

The last thing she heard was Azriel’s voice asking, “Did you train her?”

And Mor’s response, “No.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It smelled like rain.

Nesta lifted a hand with creaking muscles to wipe the sleep from her eyes, taking a moment to revel in the normalcy of the sounds outside her open window. The streets of Velaris were quiet today; nothing breaking the house’s silence but the quiet tap of droplets on roofs and the lone bird declaring its presence in the morning shower.

She’d fallen asleep, even after what happened yesterday afternoon. After what she’d done.

It wasn’t that unusual, considering she’d spent a good majority of her energy releasing her power even for the most miniscule of minutes. And what was it for – to show everyone she was _more_? More than what, she wondered.

Perhaps she was trying to convince herself that she was stronger and more capable now – surely not the type of woman who’d rely on a sister to take the reins of responsibility for keeping the family alive. No, that’s who she had been, not who she was now.

The acceptance of her folly didn’t lessen the guilt.

Releasing her arm to the mattress with a heavy _huff_ , Nesta swung one leg over the side of the bed and did her best to get out of the covers without falling in a heap on the floor.

Foot met cold wood. Bare leg met damp, cool breeze, and she realized she wasn’t wearing the dress from yesterday. Heat bloomed beneath her skin, pinking her breast and neck.

The corner mirror revealed that she was in a white shift of a nightgown, too fine and delicate to be made by human hands but nevertheless utterly beautiful. It felt like a whisper on her skin.

She glided her hands down smooth material, flexing over the lace trim dusting her thighs. The pressure felt vaguely familiar, and a memory of burnished leather and hands roughly gripping her calves flared before snuffing out.

She’d dreamt last night… for the first time since her family left the cabin. Unremarkable to most, but to her and her routine of tonics before bed to specifically _block_ subconscious thought, it was almost a miracle at this point.

But she’d dreamt of him. Why? She wondered if mates could transpose images into the other’s mind. If it had come from Cassian, it was a total violation of privacy.

 _However…_ She tested the bond with closed eyes, mentally reaching to feel along it until she reached a crack seemingly left open only for her. This was the first she’d experimented with the power to do so, and it felt like she’d cracked a safe.

Feeling empowered, she wove a scene of her gliding up the mattress of Cassian’s bed, mounting his waist with one leg on either side, careful not to press into the delicate wings splayed beneath him.

He was sleeping, dark lashes feathering his cheeks, and she fought the urge to delicately run her finger across them.

 _Cassian_ , she purred.

He stirred for a moment before his eyes shot open and looked up at her.

It all felt so _real_. He grinned lazily, and she had to mentally shake herself not to get caught in the blinding glare it emitted. Calming her racing pulse, she slid one hand up his chest and leaned forward so she was the only thing in his line of sight. He looked mildly alarmed, as if he didn’t know how this was happening.

That made two of them.

She placed one hand under his chin, while the other wrapped around the base of his throat.

Her mouth was inches from his as she said, _Infiltrate my mind again, and these hands will do more than throttle you._

“We didn’t want the dress to be ruined,” voices spoke behind her.

Exploding outward from the moment with Cassian and turning on her heel, Nesta glared and Cerridwen and Nuala as they stood innocently beside a chaise lounge, flickering in visibility.

She thought she heard a low chuckle from the other side of the bond.

“But,” Nuala started, looking at her sister. “We were not the first to visit your rooms to tend to you, it appears.”

Nesta glared at the ghostly fingers cradling the pink fabric, before they hung it up in her wardrobe and turned to her once again.

“Then… who,” she inquired. “My sister? Mor?”

“One would hope for sake of decency, but,” Cerridwen stuck a nose to the air. “But it is not their scent that lingers.”

And then they were gone, a faint mist clinging to their previous shapes.

“Can’t any one person give me a direct answer in this Gods-forsaken land?” Nesta yelled at the receding forms.

She threw her hands up in exasperation before marching to the closet and ripping the gown from the hanger. Throwing open the door hard enough that it reverberated through the house as it smacked against stone wall, she bounded down the stairs, into the kitchen and straight into someone’s wing.

Membranous skin contracted and she noticed the bandage secured tightly to one side. _Of course._

Wing retracting, Nesta caught the scent of fresh coffee and pastries, and the sound of several stiff coughs from the attached dining room.

Amren, Azriel, Mor, Elain and Rhysand – they were all there, sitting at the table with ramrod backs looking to her left, and then back at her. Well, Amren didn’t seem to mind the spectacle Nesta had displayed. She lounged comfortably, chewing a croissant, smiling faintly at the expression on Cassian’s face.

 _Cassian_. Glancing to her side, she eyed his smirk first – the height difference was infuriating – and then upward. Black pools met her grey, and she cocked her head to admire how bottomless they were. They’d been hazel yesterday. Now, they were sucking her in, inch by inch.

It reminded her of having one foot in the grave.

“Amren,” Nesta murmured, without looking away, now focused on the twitching muscle in Cassian’s jaw that seemed to be beating with the same rhythm as her anxious heartbeat. “Did you remove my dress last night?”

The response was hesitant, but nevertheless amused. “Afraid so. A task set by your dear, albeit lazy, sister, of course.”

"Hey!" Elain exclaimed, feigning embarassment. "She only sleeps like dead."

"Pleasantries aside," Amren ignored her. "I’m glad you’re awake. We’re leaving for the war camp soon.”

“What?” She seethed at the ticking muscle.

Jaw moved with lips as Cassian replied, “A contact from within the Spring Court is meeting us there to discuss matters of Tamlin’s continuing alliance with the King of Hybern.”

“Continuing alliance? I thought he denounced the king’s partnership after he got Feyre back… after everything that happened with the Cauldron.”

Silence fell.

“It seems, not surprisingly, that Tamlin lied. We’ll bring the wrath of a thousand courts onto his head, don’t worry. After, or during, the time we get Feyre back. She’s our family.”

“She’s _my_ family.” Nesta clenched her jaw.

“No one is disputing that. And,” a finger lifted her chin to meet his stare once again. “As much as I enjoy your… oral focus, sweetness, it’s rude to not look someone in the eye when addressing them. They might be tempted to _infiltrate_ that pretty little head of yours to know what you’re really thinking. Though,” he added with a whisper. “That hasn’t happened yet.”

Rage blasted through her, turning blood to ash. _The cocky, arrogant, big-headed…_

“Well,” he said, teeth showing brilliantly. “You’re right about that last one.”

Another swell of coughing swept around the dining room table, and she mentally flung an insult to the group while crossing her arms beneath her chest, not really caring if she was strong enough to transmit anything than what was written all over her face.

Cassian’s nose flared infinitesimally as she leaned forward to whisper, “Have a wonderful time using that _big head_ of yours to imagine all of the things a woman wouldn’t stoop to do to you in a dozen centuries.” Reaching to lift his arm in front of him, she added, “Hand, meet Cassian. I’m sure you two are already well acquainted.”

Walking calmly up the stairs and into the safety of her room, Nesta tried to scratch the brand of his skin from her palm, and to silence the warning growl from the opposite side of the tether.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Since she had no previous experience visiting the renowned Illyrian war camp, Nesta really had no idea what was customary to wear or bring, so she slid on a pair of linen trousers that stopped mid-calf, a billowing white shirt that still revealed a strip of stomach and delicate golden slippers.

It was far from what she was accustomed to wearing, but she didn’t want to have another encounter like training yesterday, when a dress was anything but appropriate. As Elain so generously pointed out.

A slight rap came on the bedroom door, and a wave of blonde hair entered before Mor came into view.

“Hi, I’m sorry for coming in uninvited, but to be completely honest… I wasn’t sure you were still with us,” she said with a lopsided grin.

Nesta looked her in the eye as she finished adjusting her last slipper. “No, please. Come in. And not with you? Where do you think I could go? I know no one.”

“I have a feeling that if Cassian – or Amren, for that matter – tested your patience one too many times, that really wouldn’t be a problem, would it,” she inquired airily, perching on the corner of the bench beneath the foot of the bed.

Nesta shook her head with a laugh. “No, I suppose not.”

Mor reached to take one of her hands, and patted it with the other. “I feel as if, although we’re entering dark times, I’ve gained three sisters. As I mentioned, I know this is an adjustment. And I _know_ some of us test your limits.” She paused until she met her gaze. “You are strong willed, and very brave. There is a warrior within you. In your sisters, as well. Even though you never asked for this new skin, or these new abilities, we’re only trying to help you. I hope you can learn to trust us, as Feyre did.”

The mention of her lost sister sent a knife through her gut.

Nesta smiled weakly. It was the first time anyone had ever complimented her; not for being beautiful or proper, but for being _strong_. She wished she could bottle the words.

“Now,” Mor added, releasing her hands. “As your companion, I must add that the warriors won’t know you as we do, and if you arrive wearing that,” she pointed to where Nesta’s top just met the high of her navel. “They’ll assume you’re there for entertainment.”

“Well maybe someone should teach them to keep their dicks in their trousers.”

“They’ve tried, but Illyrians inherently grow alongside stubbornness.”

Mor looked apologetic, and Nesta instantly felt like a petulant child for being so resistant. There was a history and wisdom that came with Morrigan, and though she didn’t know if she would ever tell her story, it was slightly ridiculous to make such a fuss over something as simple as clothing.

“Okay, but I’m keeping my hair down. There’s too much testosterone circling this group for me to completely submit to the role of a male.”

Mor’s face lit up. “As you wish.”

An hour later, Nesta’s body was encased in supple brown leather from the base of her neck to her toes, hair curled delicately down her back, loose like she required. She realized she could move fluidly in her new clothing, and began nervously fingering the holsters at her hips and thighs, no doubt for all sorts of knives and weaponry. It all felt too comfortable, _too_ right.

“Ready?” Mor, took her hand to lead her downstairs where they would meet the others to winnow into the camp.

She offered her companion a tight nod before following her to the entryway.

Neta felt his glare first, then a slow, rumbling tremor down the bond.

Once she was securely past the stairs and on level ground, she looked to Cassian, who’s eyes had been slowly perusing the length of her body. When they reached hers, something like glittering pride lay beneath the still-black depths. He quirked the side of his mouth.

“Hello sweetness.”

“In better spirits, I see,” she said lazily, to nothing but the slight curve of his lips as a matter of stubbornness per his previous comment. It didn’t hurt that they _were_ lovely lips. “I trust my suggestion of keeping company with your hand was all that you required?”

She heard Elain sputter as she entered. “Really, Nesta. You’re awful!”

And, as if being strangled, Azriel choked on a laugh from behind Elain. Nesta looked to Mor, who was staring incredulously at him. She wondered about _that_ part of her story, but decided against asking.

“Good, you’re all here,” Rhysand said, walking forward with Amren. “Shall we?”

“Into the belly of the beast, as they say,” Nesta murmured, taking Mor’s outstretched hand. She watched as they were enveloped in darkness, and then they were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The group had not yet materialized from shadow when a deep voice called to them from a short distance away. Mor’s grip on Nesta’s hand grew tighter, then released altogether.

“Glad to see you could make it,” the voice said.

Black mist cleared and a broad-shouldered man stepped into view. He was older, but not in any way less magnificent as the younger Illyrian soldiers who had gathered to view their High Lord and his companions.

“Devlon,” Rhys said gruffly, shaking the man’s hand before introducing her and her sister. “The rest of my circle you know already.”

“Of course,” Devlon said tightly, nodding warily at each of them, seemingly drawing his wings closer to his body when his gaze landed on Azriel. “May I have a moment, my lord,” he asked Rhysand without looking directly into his eyes.

“You may have a dozen moments, as long as we get the information we came for. Mor, show the ladies to the cabin. Cassian, Azriel, come along.”

Devlon looked pale. “My lord…”

“If you attempt to reason with me again that your most powerful warriors are residing within the cabin, and therefor we’re expected to sleep in the mud like the others – I promise, this time I’ll allow Morrigan to show them what _real_ power is,” Rhysand replied dismissively.

Fire bled into Devlon’s eyes, but he nodded tightly in his direction before leading them off to discuss matters of… well, Nesta was unsure. She was curious, though.

Cassian spared a look over his shoulder at her as she stood rooted in the muddy roadway, lined on either side by tents of warriors who were grunting or snoring or eating. Every sound was amplified. Excelled senses did nothing for her gag reflex in a place like that. But she stood unflinchingly, staring back into his eyes with resolved determination.

His shoulders widened and he looked almost as if he was walking proudly, proud of her to have a strong mind, even there – surrounded by the most dangerous warriors Prythian had ever seen.

_If they try anything, they’ll be flightless for a week._

She caught his smirk as he straightened and turned to follow the men, but not before she watched his own wings stretch outward, casting a hue of red against the ground as the sun shone against them.

It looked like his blood was everywhere. Like in Hybern. She stamped the thought down.

“Nesta, are you coming,” Elain called.

She looked behind her toward where her sister was walking up the cabin steps at the end of the path.

Three men were slumping away from their temporarily-lost home, bags in hand, casting hateful glares backward toward where Mor was no doubt waving them off.

 

* * *

 

“Those males are nothing but disgusting _pigs_ ,” Mor grimaced, pinching dirty laundry between two fingers before throwing the items out the door – one by one.

Elain giggled and resumed her place in her book, finger pointed at the page.

It had been a week, and Nesta’s sister had apparently spent that time learning to properly read – not just words sent on an invitation – from Azriel. The two had become fast friends, and though she was wary of the danger that lurked beneath the Illyrian’s silent exterior, she was thankful to him for keeping close to her sister.

She sat at the rough-hewn wooden table, one hand propping up her chin, the other tracing the patterns in the wood beneath her.

The cabin left much to be desired. _Small_ was an understatement, but the open first floor held what you’d reasonably need to survive: kitchen with fire-burning stove, dining table, plush chairs surrounding a fire. It was better than sleeping outside, she supposed. And it was surely bigger than their home not that long ago.

She had yet to venture up the narrow staircase to the second floor where the bedrooms were. Part of her didn’t want to seem too eager to sleep in another man’s bed, though her muscles were screaming for rest, and another part of her assumed the beds to be as unwashed as the undergarments still strewn about the house.

“Should I put the pot on? There is some preserved rabbit I could stew for dinner,” she inquired, focusing on Mor who was flitting around, attempting to clean.

Mor stopped and glanced up at her. “Oh, would you? I’ll help in a moment. I’m thinking I’d be better off just taking a broom to this mess, and sweeping _all_ of their belongings out of the front door.”

Nesta laughed. “Do what you must. I’m sure they deserve it,” she replied, before turning to light a match for the stove.

She thought she heard Mor murmur, _You have no idea._ But she dismissed it. If her friend meant to be heard, she would speak up. No use in pressing the issue.

An hour later, the cabin was filled with a warm aroma of hare and the onions she’d collected from outside. They were small and torn from the dirt, but her family had survived on worse.

The door swung open violently, and she jumped, ladle spinning in her grip as a makeshift weapon. Laughter boomed as Rhys, Cassian and Azriel stumbled in. All of them carrying small barrels of ale.

“Not only were those pigs resisting training the females again, but they were hoarding ale in cupboards like old women rationing for winter,” Cassian said by way of greeting.

“You’ve brought enough for the girls!” Mor clapped giddily before collecting the barrels from their arms fast enough that within one blink they were gone from them and on the table. “But,” she said, feigning shyness. “What will you boys drink? Oh, never mind. There’s a well out back.”

Azriel looked stunned momentarily, then smirked in Mor’s direction while she uncorked one to fill her glass. He caught Nesta looking and quickly frowned at her attention.

Nesta just shrugged, turning to the pot again to serve the others.

She heard Elain come forward to show Azriel what she’d learned that day, and her heart swelled with pride. The circle resumed conversation like no one had ever been gone.

Smiling to herself, she began ladling stew into bowls and setting them next to her, enjoying the steam thawing her skin. The fire warmed a portion of the house, and she was told the chimney warmed upstairs, but the kitchen remained bitterly cold as if there was a draft.

Speaking of, her back felt considerably warmer than a moment ago. Her hand paused stirring.

“Smells fantastic, sweetness,” Cassian said only for her.

Chills broke throughout her body, but she resumed serving. Better to ignore the aching need to lean back into that warm, broad body.

“Surprised I can cook? Did you assume Feyre hunted _and_ did the housework as well?” She questioned with surprising calm.

“I never assumed you couldn’t do anything,” he whispered, closer now.

Cassian leaned forward to collect a bowl from beside her, leather sleeve brushing her now-bare arm. She’d changed into comfortable linen pants and a short-sleeved top Mor had produced from her pack earlier. Dozens of items had fallen out in all shapes and sizes. _Magic,_ she’d thought. Mor assured her she just had a talent for maximizing space while packing.

“Thank you for feeding my family.”

Nesta turned to meet his eyes, only inches apart. They were hazel again today. “How odd that the color of your eyes changes with your temperament,” she wondered aloud, quickly clamping her lips shut.

He laughed heartily, breath gusting against her mouth. It smelled like cloves and ale. She wanted to drown in it.

Turning from her, Cassian announced, “Dinner’s ready!”

Like dogs, they all pounced from their seats and grabbed their bowls, thanking her before sitting at the table.

Nesta collected her own and sat down. The males seemed content with today’s meeting. Perhaps it was time she did a little questioning of her own. She hated to disrupt the quiet joy circling the group as they devoured their dinner, but a week was long enough to wait for answers.

“Rhysand,” she said quietly. He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Have you… I mean, I don’t know how it works exactly but… have you heard from Feyre? Is she okay?”

He lowered his spoon with practiced calm, but she didn’t miss the low snarl in his throat before he answered. “She’s spoken to me once. It’s not safe as there are others that reside within the Spring Court who may be able to access her mind while she transmits a message. But she… she’s okay.”

A breath released from the group, almost as if they were _all_ too afraid to ask themselves. “But,” she started. “Tamlin… he hasn’t discovered her true intentions?”

“That prick hasn’t laid a hand on her physically _or_ mentally. Your dazzling sister has been playing the victim, as expected as a released _prisoner_ ,” he spat the word. “Of the Night Court. Tamlin believes he has his bride back for the time being, as does his court.”

“Bride, but not mate?”

“Make no mistake, Tamlin assumes they are fated to be mates, but for whatever reason it hasn’t happened yet.”

“But since its discovery, hasn’t it been made evident that once mates are…,” Nesta blushed furiously. “Once they _consummate_ their love, it finalizes the declaration.”

Elain coughed next to her. She glanced sidelong at her. It was sometimes easy to forget that she had her own mate waiting for her. _Lucien._ Nesta was still deciding how she felt about her sister being linked to a servant of the High Lord of the Spring Court.

Fate was a strange mistress.

“The declaration,” Cassian said strongly, gripping his spoon and peering up at her from beneath his dark brow. “Is finalized with or without consummation. The choice is the female’s to recognize it.”

_Oh._

“Some males have it in their heads that they can make that decision for both parties,” Mor sneered.

It was Azriel’s turn to death-grip his own cutlery.

“Then,” she began again, calmer this time. “There are some that do not care about mating at all. They want a warm body, one that will be able to rear their children. There are High Lords, both past and present, who married without the mating bond.”

“But what of those women? Why would they sacrifice their lives to a man who’s destined for another, when _they themselves_ are destined for another,” Nesta asked them.

“Hunger for power sometimes overrides a hunger for love,” Cassian said, almost sad.

“And what of the alliance, between Tamlin and the King of Hybern,” she asked, looking back to Rhysand.

“Our informant tells us he’s unable to break the pact he’s made with the King. The deal encompasses the whole oncoming war. Tamlin keeps feeding him information, and the human armies don’t march on his territory.”

“He sounds like a coward,” Nesta replied, wrapping her fingers into a fist tight enough that she heard them crack.

“On that we can agree.” He nodded an inch. He looked so strong, she thought, despite Feyre being stolen from him.

But then again, so had she been this past week. She wondered warily if she’d ever snap – worse than her temper had during her little presentation at the house in Velaris. One could only hope that her friends weren’t nearby when that happened.

It felt odd calling them friends, but they were the closest thing she and Elain had to true ones. They watched over them, protected them even now when Nesta was sure if given the go-ahead, ten warriors would be in the cabin to prey upon them.

A scratching sound came from across from her, and she looked to see that Cassian had gouged strips of wood from the table and was staring straight at her, warning shining in his eyes.

Mor cleared her throat to break the tension and said, “Well, now that we’ve cleared the details of the day up, I believe it’s time for bed. Nesta? Elain?”

She looked between them, a silent prayer to escape the toxic masculinity pouring out of the males. Nesta nodded to her, and then to Elain beside her. But first…

She placed a hand on Rhysand’s. His eyes shot to her hand, and then to her determined gaze. “I’d like to help. I _want_ to help bring her back – to stop this madness. Tell me what I need to do.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment she could see the man that Feyre fell in love with: not the High Lord, hardened and bitter from years of war and loss, but the kind male who looked out for those closest to him. She felt a bit of her resolve dissipate.

“We would be glad to involve you in any way we can,” he said. “Feyre is not an object to be recovered; she is a vital part of the plan to stop the loss of millions. Most of the plan itself was her idea. The moment she accomplishes what she set out to do within the Spring Court, she’ll come back to us. And no High Lord can stand in the way of the High Lady of the Night Court. Trust me – I’ve tried fruitlessly just a few times,” he ended with a smile.

“I’m happy she found you,” Nesta sighed, patting his hand and withdrawing.

She stood from the table and turned toward the stair, but not before seeing the awe on Cassian’s face, directed straight at her.


	4. Chapter 4

If the cabin seemed compact from the first floor, the second surprised Nesta. There were three doors leading to separate bedrooms, two with a joining bathroom. A ladder stood in the center of the landing that led to an open attic.

Normally more comfortable with high spaces, she’d chosen that room.

Mor and Elain bid her goodnight, separating into their own rooms, before she crept up the ladder.

Fortunately the space was tasked as a bedroom already. With a plush bed with its head pushed to the single window on the far wall, it also held a small dresser and a stack of pillows upon a rug in the guise of a sitting area.

Placing her things neatly on the floor so as to not disrupt the dust that had settled on the dresser, she crawled across the mattress, using the sloping ceiling on either side to balance her. The window revealed a plane of earth, cleared of vegetation, weapons strewn about. A dagger stuck from the dirt, a sword laid haphazardly by it. Like there’d been a battle, and they were stolen away – leaving traces of their existence to wither with the weather.

A light rain had started again, and judging by the state of their roads, she wondered if the Illyrians warriors ever experienced a dry, warm day.

_Surely no condition to leave weapons lying around in._  She scoffed and flipped onto the mattress, closing her eyes with relief.

“I’d have to agree.”

Nesta sat forward suddenly, bearing her weight on her elbows behind her, and peered past where the moonlight lit the room.

“But then again,” Cassian said, laughing as he stepped into the white glow from her window. “Illyrians have never been known for their intelligence. Bastard-born brutes, yes. But not knowledge of things that matter.” At that he scowled. _Okay, sensitive subject._

“Is this the part where you tell me that’s where they’ve underestimated _you_ ,” she replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.

His form swallowed the room and she was mildly impressed that he was able to _fit_ in the attic. His dark hair swung forward to shadow one eye as he ducked below the rafters. She hadn’t even heard the ladder creak when he came up.

“Catching on, are you,” he asked from deep within his throat, venturing another step toward her.

She watched his gaze settle on where her chest inflated erratically. She schooled her face into an impassive mask, completely ignoring the fact that her blood felt electrified.

“Am I intruding? You must be tired,” he finally said, raking a hand through hair still wet and unruly from being outside earlier that night. Shy was a fresh look for him. “I… I just thought we could discuss what you said at dinner. When you said that you wanted to help. Did you mean that?”

“Ah, I… yes, I meant it. Please sit.” She waved a hand to the end of the bed and curled her legs beneath her.

Cassian tentatively sat on the edge of the mattress, wings tucked tightly to one side, not yet looking at her, but at his wringing hands. It seemed like he was settling himself.

“I wish…” He paused. “I wish this wasn’t happening again. We supposed it would, after Amarantha, but not of this magnitude. You and your sisters shouldn’t have this burden, not when you’ve only just been Made. The things my family and I have seen… Unspeakable things. I just wanted to make sure you’ve acknowledged the brutality still to be come, and the possible outcome.”

She knew what outcome he was referring to, had mentally prepared herself for it. But _thinking_ about death, and staring it in the face were totally separate entities.

“Cassian. You forget they tossed my family in the slums when we lost our wealth. Watching death eat someone slowly from starvation has hardened us, I think,” she said soothingly, placing a hand atop his shoulder. He stopped moving altogether, stopped breathing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

She slowly withdrew her fingers, planning on holding the hand to her chest for the remainder of their conversation – a silent promise not to touch him again – when his own hand shot out blindingly fast to capture her wrist.

Nesta gasped at the contact of skin on skin. His grip was enough to hurt her, yet she was tempted to tell him to wrap those lovely hands around her whole body and hurt her everywhere.

“Sometimes,” he said, sounding strained. His attention was now where his hand traveled to her palm, stroking softly with his thumb. “I forget you are unaware of our traditions. Dinner, for instance. Making your mate a meal, allowing him to eat something that you alone made, is a part of the acceptance of the mating bond.”

It was her turn to stop breathing. She had no idea the significance.

“Don’t worry, sweetness,” he said quickly, noting her expression. No doubt she looked horrified. She wished that wasn’t the first expression he saw. “I won’t hold you to it. There are things our kind takes very seriously, however, mannerisms and traditions that I can teach you with time. Things that you would not have known otherwise. What I said at dinner was also true – the choice is yours alone.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

Cassian nodded, as if some agreement had been made, and turned those beautiful eyes to her own. “May I ask you a question?”

Now captured in his gaze, Nesta nodded slowly.

“How did you learn to block me from your mind? Sometimes I hear everything, others I hear total silence. Did Mor instruct you?” His finger stopped circling her still-outstretched palm and she wanted to scream at him to start again.

He winced and laughed gloriously. “Like that, right there? I _heard_ that.” Still, though, his movements against her skin resumed.

Nesta smiled, angling her pointer finger upward to graze the inside of his wrist, and she felt the bond physically _hum_. Even the slightest touch and she had enough electricity coursing through her she could light the night. “No one _instructed_ me. I imagine a knob inside my mind and I turn it until the bond quiets.”

“What an original and beautiful creature you are,” he said after a moment of studying every inch of her face.

“So now I’m reduced to a _creature_ , am I?” She laughed. He grew serious and stared at her mouth, and then into her eyes again. Quickly recovering from his change in mood, and her now hammering pulse, she said, “And what could a creature like me contribute to your war, hmm? I’m not strong enough to carry you on my back through battle, but I could learn to jump through hoops if that pleases you.”

It felt like she was treading on dangerous ground for some reason.

“You could win a battle of wits with any male, and once we’ve trained you to harness your full power… you could win the war, if you so wished.”

Cassian’s words were intoxicating. He not only thought her capable, but believed her to be _powerful_. A woman. She was drunk on the feeling radiating from them both, and she reached up to capture his chin between the fingers of her free hand, feeling his day-old beard scrape her delicate skin.

Leaning forward to pin him with her gaze, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Gathering her hand in his, he slowly removed her grip from his face. “Nesta, you shouldn’t unless…,” he said, pained. “It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself, if you don’t.”

Nesta felt like a greedy child. She never considered what her demand for comfort, or simply _touching_ him, implied. Typical. She’d opened herself to another, let him see, and she’d gotten another door slammed in her face.

She _wanted_ someone to take control – to _not stop_. But she couldn’t think that way. Not after last time.

Tomas briefly flitted through her mind. His hands, his mouth, the satisfying smack of tooth on lip as she slapped him away. Then the urge to smack herself as she thought of the times she allowed him to have his way with her, fortunately always _over_ her skirts. When she had thought that if someone was willing to have her, she might as well yield to him.

Cassian’s growl shook the bed. “Tomas, is it? Thank you for such a _clear_ image of his face, for I will look right over it in his time of need.” He sighed heavily. “Is that what you think of me? That my single focus is satisfying my _urges_? If I was granted an inch, it would be in your direction. You must know that.”

She considered his eyes for some sign of dishonesty, but found none.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she said, “The night does funny things to people, I think. Maybe we should wait until morning to resume this conversation.”

Forcing self-control into the shape of modesty felt wrong, but she couldn’t trust herself. Not when she clenched her fists to stop herself from brushing another lock of umber hair from his forehead that had fallen from where it was tied at his neck.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, though,” Nesta blurted when he began to draw away from her. “Your wing looks almost completely healed.”

Cassian smiled wryly at her. She hoped he didn’t think her attempt to placate him into innocent conversation was a flat-out refusal of him. “We’re meeting downstairs at sunrise. Then we convene with the Council. We’ll be discussing the human territory, and your input would be invaluable. The choice is yours.”

_As it always is._

Sudden guilt came over her for not being ready to accept this arrangement, for everything. He had had a life before her, and she found it hard to believe he was a stranger to the female form. He could only be honoring the bond, and not be interested in her at all.

“You’re impossible,” he grimaced. Nesta realized he most likely heard every word of her doubt, and hated herself for not warding against projecting her emotions like a warning flare. “Listen to me, woman. I don’t involve myself in matters I don’t wish to be a part of. I don’t spend time with people who I care nothing for. If I was only honoring the bond as a matter of respect to the Mother, you’d know. If you want to paint me as a coldhearted _predator_ , fine. I’ve been called much worse, trust me.” She felt every word released on her lips, snarled in her face like a repeated slap.

Nesta watched as he ducked to avoid the ceiling, disappearing into darkness again, like he’d never been there at all.

 

* * *

 

 “Nesta! Breakfast!” Elain’s voice carried up the ladder to where Nesta lay in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling.

She’d been awake since last night, replaying Cassian’s words repeatedly, making sure she wasn’t thinking too loudly this time. _Thinking too loudly_. Who was she now, to accept a concept like that so easily?

There were a few times during the night when she’d missed her blissful ignorance of an existence, missed waking to a quiet home and a need for only her own companionship. She even missed the normalcy of typical village problems.

But there was no going back.

Donning a cool expression, she stood and dressed quickly. Her leathers were stiff from where she’d wiped them clean with a wet rag and hung them to dry while she bathed in the early hours of the morning.

Her eyes may have reflected her exhaustion, but at least she didn’t smell.

Once she was on the landing, she turned to meet her sister’s appraising look. “What is it now,” she asked Elain crossly.

“Just noticing how nice you look, even dressed for battle,” Elain said, quirking her mouth into a sly smile. “And I quite like your hair down. All of those tight braids you used to accomplish looked like they were pulling the skin from your face.”

Nesta fidgeted with the ends of her wheat-blonde strands. “Oh, go… read a book or something,” she stammered, stomping down the stairs.

Elain’s answering laugh followed her as she stepped into the kitchen, garnering the attention of the circle, already half-finished with their breakfast.

Everyone but Cassian. He looked very interested in the marbled fat of his bacon.

“So, this Council,” she said to everyone, sitting in the open seat beside him. “Cassian mentioned last night that they would like to discuss the mortal realm.” Wide eyes swung to the male next to me. “What should I expect?”

“You’ll be training with Azriel today, Nesta.” Cassian was speaking to his plate, but she could feel the tension radiating off of him.

She looked up at Azriel, who was now taking great pains to _not_ look at her.

“So why would you mention it at all? You told me it was my choice to help, and I’m willing.” Bordering on hysterical, she reigned herself in until her voice was collected again. “You can’t keep me here. Not when I can contribute to the conversation.”

“You need to train.” Murmuring this, Nesta got the impression the conversation was over.

Cassian stood, straightening his own armor before stomping out the door like an infant. A groan escaped her lips before turning to meet the eyes of everyone else.

Rhys looked rife with indecision, as if his choice to follow his brother or not would nullify Nesta’s previous comment about being glad of his and Feyre’s union. Coming to a decision, he left - but not before he shot her a look of pity.

She didn’t need their pity. She needed to be _included_. Needed someone to believe she was more than just a _bitch_ playing dress-up. Another door slammed in her mind, and the spark in her subconscious took flight through her body. Black as pitch with violent bursts of white fire.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Forgive him. He did not rest well last night. This is new territory for him and… understand that he has not yet navigated through it.” He turned to leave as well, but stopped an inch from the door. “I’ll meet you and Elain on the field in ten minutes.” And then he was gone, too.


	5. Chapter 5

A pot of water could have boiled in the heat that wrapped deadly arms around Nesta as she again took her stance facing Azriel in the clearing below her room’s window. Rivulets of sweat ran beneath her armor, licking her spine with discomfort, as they had for a solid eight hours of torture disguised as training.

The sun stood at full-mast in the cloudless sky, reflecting off their borrowed weapons with blinding awareness. Outward, inward, everything burned bright.

Azriel, Nesta noticed begrudgingly, paced unfazed by the stifling humidity. Maybe the Illyrians really _didn’t_ experience the light of day very often, learning to soak it in before rain made everything miserable again.

Glancing to where Elain bent to pluck a single flower that had survived the feet of a thousand men, Nesta noticed Azriel’s shadow retract for the faintest moment before he resumed his circling, tapping the end of his short sword to her’s.

_Interesting_.

His brow furrowed at whatever thought her face revealed. She didn’t worry about anyone probing her mind today; she had turned the knob until it broke off, cauterizing the gap when she was done.

Pointing with his sword at the top of her head, he said, “Blindfold on, now.”

Still fuming over Cassian’s blatant dismissal, she’d found solace in the fact that she wasn’t the only one who was forced out of the meeting with the Council. Chances were that Azriel didn’t want to spend his day with her, and the feeling was wholeheartedly reciprocated. But she didn’t let him see that – not when he’d become a sort of friend and ally to her sister.

Reaching up to tug on the scarf circling her hairline, she lay it over her eyes and tied it tight at the nape of her neck. Stubbornness had prevented her from tying her hair until that moment. It was either suffer her ideals, or risk her hair being permanently glued to her neck and arms. Quickly plaiting it, she tossed it over her shoulder. Daydreaming briefly of a cool pond manifesting beside her, she muttered, “I still don’t see the point in doing this.”

“Part of being a warrior,” he said, closer this time. Behind? In front? She turned in circles, trying to find the root of his voice. “Is being aware of your enemy at all times. You have to _feel_ their intentions, anticipate their attack.”

The sword in her hand vibrated with a tap near the base. She swung wide, breathing hard.

“You have to learn to live in the black… eyes can lie. Your intuition never will.” He swung again, this time stopping just as the blade grazed her cheek.

Nesta lifted a hand to her cheek, feeling for blood. Nothing, but perspiration.

A calloused hand gripped her own. _No, not callouses… scars._ He withdrew instantly. “Position yourself like I taught you. Stop thinking, feel my approach.”

Repositioning, she gripped the hilt with renewed energy. This time not afraid or angry, but exhilarated. One deep breath in, she held it in her lungs, willing her body to quiet. For a moment, the electrified current coursing through her body flickered out.

A shell. Only a mind. Casting a net of awareness outward, she heard the faint scuffle of rock under boot as Azriel adjusted his bearings. Leather on leather. Hair grazing armor. His final intake of breath before striking.

_There._

Nesta swiveled in place, glancing her sword off his own, again taking stance.

Breath, strike. Swivel, position, strike. Step, parry. It could have gone on for eternity, each blow that met its mark was like a victory. Soon, she was dancing on her toes, listening to every move Azriel made – anxious to succeed again.

A misstep landed her on her knees, but she scrambled up to start again.

Wide-legged and poised, she felt hands lift the fabric from her eyes. Azriel stood before her, meeting her squinting gaze and wrapping the scarf around his fist like binding.

“I… I didn’t hear you that time,” Nesta sputtered.

He tapped a finger to his temple, smiling genuinely. “I’m not sought after for my conversational skills. I fought like anyone would, anyone other than me.”

“So you made it easy on me, then?” Mildly thankful for that, she admitted to herself that she couldn’t compete with someone that didn’t make a sound. _Like they don’t exist, until_ you _don’t._

“No, not easy. _Realistic_. There’s a substantial difference. If we had months to train, you’d be worthy of any Illyrian fleet.” Turning in the direction of Elain, who had now stopped to watch, eyes darting between us, he threw over his shoulder, “Practice with the dummy until dinner. Use the blindfold, too.”

“But, you took…”

“It’s waiting for you there.”

_How? When could he have possibly…_

Sure enough, the bright red scarf blew on the breeze from atop one of the figure’s arms. “Nice trick,” she muttered, stomping in that direction. That area of the yard was blissfully shaded, anyway.

Part of her pitied Elain for having to sweat on the sidelines, only to endure more unrelenting heat under Azriel’s ministrations.

Another part feared for Azriel, as they hadn’t yet felt or heard a whisper of the power that the Cauldron graced her sister with. Nesta sometimes caught her staring off into nowhere, a crease between her brows, fists clenched as if trying to stave off the gift.

She used to feel that way, too. Now, the fire inside her was her only ally. The hollowness inside her mind howled in response, like a mighty wind beating against an enforced door. Maybe she had closed it off forever.

Nesta just hoped that whatever ability Elain discovered wasn’t something that stole her innocence away. She had thought the change had made her withdrawn, busying herself with reading and lessons, but maybe it was what was fighting its way out.       

If that was the case, she hated it. Refused to appreciate the leverage it gave Elain when it had stolen her light, her smile. Mostly, anyway. Glancing to where Elain and Azriel met, she saw a rare and prized grin sneak its way across her face as she looked up to him.

Something about the moment felt private – like she was intruding on an intimate conversation, and Nesta wondered how many similar conversations they’d had over the days that followed Hybern.

Rhys’s words came unbidden into her mind, about how the mating bond is the woman’s choice. Would Elain _choose_ Lucien?

The male’s face flashed behind her closed lids, fiery red hair, his stunned face when he turned to his High Lord – _Tamlin_ – and seemed genuinely surprised that his friend would go to such lengths to destroy the lives of thousands. To destroy her family’s life.

Confusion turned to anger. Anger at him, that he didn’t put a stop to it. That he wasn’t there to help Elain cope with the change, to support her as her whole life was upended. No, he just sat at the right hand of a traitor and a thief. Assisted in the kidnapping of Feyre.

Nesta didn’t trust anyone, really, but she would rather have her fate decided by a vengeful High Lord governed by his love for her sister, than one trying to keep her in a box while she wasted away, while he betrayed the rest of his kind.

Spinning her sword-bearing wrist to loosen the tension now coiled in every muscle, she gathered the scarf and tied it back into place. This time she kept her eyes open beneath the mask, her vision a wash of crimson.

Releasing a shaky breath, she planted her feet and faced her imaginary opponent; picturing blonde hair, then red. _Today, it’ll be both_.

The breeze whispered around the curvature of the wooden model, and she listened intently for the creak of its joints.

_There._  An arm spun on the accelerating wind toward her, and she swung downward with enough force her teeth chattered. “Again.”

This time she jutted the point of her weapon into its center, narrowly avoiding another swinging arm. Each time she struck, she had to wedge the sword from where it had lodged into the wooden body.

She lunged and avoided and hit, all while avoiding the wind – not around her, but inside her mind. Again, beating against the lock.

Her blindfold was like a shadow in front of her eyes, and Nesta didn’t know if that meant a storm was overhead, or if she had been moving mindlessly until dark. A single drop of rain hit her outstretched hands. _Rain it is, then._ More droplets joined the first, glancing off her armor and weighing strands of hair down until they stuck to her face.

She didn’t care. Nothing would stop her.

Blonde-red hair evolved to broad shoulders, animalistic eyes, mocking smirk. The queens, the king, Tomas. Everyone that had ever looked her over as irrelevant.

Her muscles were singing as she continued to dodge limbs, reveling in the sound her sword made as it sliced away the pelting rain and found its mark. She no longer cared where the mark was. She wouldn’t stop until it was in splinters.

It was a strange feeling, not releasing the power that itched beneath skin to be released, to crumble the structure without effort – but ease of use wasn’t the goal. Nesta now understood the villager who had fought a man within an inch of his life for stealing from him. Punishing someone had a lot to do with punishing yourself as well. For being too careless, too naïve to believe that anything bad could ever happen to you.

Suddenly, her vest was suffocating over her linen shirt. Peeling it off within a breath, she left it in the mud. The storm soaked through, gloriously coating her body in chill relief.

She lifted her face to the sky and ripped the blindfold from her eyes, and began to… laugh.

It felt so good after exerting herself, releasing her rage with every blow, her chest felt foreign as it shook with joy.

“Nesta?” A familiar voice said softly from behind her.

She turned to meet Cassian’s worried gaze.

_I’m elated for once, and he’s concerned._

“I couldn’t hear you.” He touched his temple.

“Mission accomplished, then,” she replied harshly.

Nesta glanced to where Azriel and Elain had been, and found they’d gone. _How long had she been out here alone?_ Fortunately, this space was not used often – far back enough from the troop’s lodgings that she hadn’t attracted an audience.

Cassian stepped back into her view, blinking away the rain that had gathered on his eyelashes, hands raised as if to say to a wounded animal, ‘ _I’m safe_ ’.

Shaking her head, she reached to the weapons rack to her left and threw him a sword equal in length to her own. He registered the motion just in time, catching it and stumbling backward.

_No one is safe. I’m done being pitied. I’m done being disregarded._ “Your turn,” she said seriously, hands resuming their place on her own weapon.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, softer this time. It sounded like defeat, though she didn’t know who for.

Swallowing her own self-loathing, Nesta smiled sweetly toward her mate. “Why, are you afraid?” She ran swiftly to wear he stood and swung hard. He blocked one-handed and retreated a step. Wariness slumped his leather-clad shoulders, eyes wide with indecision.

So she made the decision for him, and swung again. Metal clanged together, sparking with the force.

Cassian looked almost shocked, both of their chests heaving as they stared each other down, circling now. “Why are you doing this?” His eyes forgot their place and glanced at her body beneath the now-sheer tunic, throat bobbing.

“Because I can.” Catching him unaware, Nesta side-stepped and struck behind his back. He was quick, though – again, meeting her attack. Sliding her sword down his until they were crossed and she was inches from his face, she took a moment to appreciate the tanned angles of his jaw… the hollows of his cheeks. The slight curl to his dark hair. The shadow of a beard not groomed in a few days. He was beautiful. “Fight back. Or should I call Azriel back out to take your place?”

His gaze hooded, he made memory of her mouth as it slid back into a sweet smile before meeting her eyes again. This time, his were a burning ore. Fury smoothed the planes of his face into a calm, controlled master of war.

“ _Ah_ ,” Nesta breathed, suddenly anxious at his total stillness. “Has your beast finally come out to play with mine?”

“First lesson,” he said with casual grace, straightening her shoulders with tight fingers. “ _Never_ provoke an Illyrian when you swing a sword like a boy with a stick. We are not a wooden dummy, we are flesh and blood and years of experience. When we swing, we rarely miss.”

She was shaking with nervous energy, trembling beneath his fingertips which had yet to leave her shoulders even as he circled to her back. “Funny, because I imagined your face on that thing the whole time. Seemed to lose an arm easily enough.” Looking pointedly in its direction, the arm was indeed laying in splinters, washing away piece by piece.

Nesta felt his breath huff on her neck in a quiet laugh. Chills rolled violently across the surface of her skin. “Always so difficult,” he leaned in to whisper against the shell of her ear. “Glad to see I’m still the villain in this scenario.”

She couldn’t feel anything but the brand he pressed into her skin, the weight of her breasts as they perked with desire, the coil of electricity furling inside her belly. “Calling you a villain would mean I cared enough to categorize you.”

Spinning her to face him, Cassian’s face seethed with restraint as he took in her body. Her selfish body, practically reaching out for his attention. “Grab your sword,” he said, tight with labored breaths.

She hadn’t noticed it slip from her hand into the mud, and felt instantly foolish. Reaching down to collect it, Nesta came eyelevel with his arousal, now made evident from the rain gripping his leathers to his strong thighs. A rope of muscle quivered within one leg, knee close to buckling, but he locked it back into place.  

“ _Yes_ , that is a normal reaction to being around you. No, I’m not going to be gentle with you.”

Looking up at his grim expression, like he hated himself for being so drawn to her, she stood, gripping the sword’s hilt and resumed her stance. “So don’t be. And I’ll show you what I can do with my _stick_.”

Tearing off his own vest, leaving it in the mud like she had, he stood at the ready. Nesta had to swallow the excitement of seeing the pure masculinity he exerted, eclipsed in magnificence only by the wings he slowly unfurled behind him. They looked like a promise of swift death.

Here was the weapon the others fought to be like. All of him. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her sword and stepped toward him. He did the same.

Three paces away, she swung hard, brutally meeting his sword.

“Elbows down. Move your body with the strike, like you _are_ the weapon,” Cassian stated authoritatively.

The idea that she, too, could be a weapon lit the spark anew. Following his instruction, she steadied her elbows at equal length and rotated her hips, lashing out. This time, Cassian narrowly avoided being impaled through his gut.

He looked stunned for an instant, nodded and stepped back.

“Stop moving away from me,” Nesta huffed.

“Enemies are not stationary.” But he took the heed and came at her this time, making a direct strike for her shoulder. She glanced his sword off her own, sparks showering her cheek.

Hit after hit. Step for step.

Anger and sadness and confusion and… atonement guided their way to one another. Anticipated each other’s moves, listened through the storm for a stuttered breath in preparation to strike.

Rain mixed with sweat. Then the tears came. Angry, hot ones that burned tracks from her eyes to chin. Cassian stuttered a step.

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t stop!”

He nodded, again donning his warrior mask and crouching down to expect her, allowing his wings to retract.

She swallowed a sob and ran on shaking knees toward him, aiming for his heart. For _their_ hearts. She wanted to end them all. His face blurred into something unrecognizable, morphing into a mix of features that matched everyone who had ever hurt her. He parried, arm thrown outward to stop her progression until she slammed violently into the mud.

Hard hands weighed her down and she thrashed until her nails met rough stubble and left their mark. Blinking away the tears and the rain and the _others_ , she looked up at a wild-eyed Cassian. _It’s Cassian._ His wings spread to encase them in shelter.

Her heart felt like it was about to explode out of her chest, lungs raw and burning. Her mouth starved for water, and she was surrounded by it.

“Again?” He scanned her face and body, not with the primal need as before, but looking for injury. And yet, he was still willing to go on. To keep fighting if she needed to.

The rain pelted against his wings angrily. Nesta looked away from the damaging mark she’d made on his face, and instead watched shadows dance against translucent membrane, absentmindedly reaching up to follow the trail of a renegade droplet that held on, fingers bumping over veins and hollow bone.

Caked in mud, soaked to the bone, all she wanted was this moment. Then they could begin again. She’d light the spark, remind herself that she didn’t want him. She just…

“Don’t stop,” Cassian said through clenched teeth, one of his knees sliding between hers while his hands fisted and squelched in the dirt beside her face.

She could feel his heavy breaths against her cheek. _So close._ She didn’t look up, just continued following the path along his wing until she couldn’t reach any farther.

“You left me there,” Nesta murmured, close to breathing in the water that had pooled higher around her. “You said I had a choice… and then you _left_.”

He inhaled her hair, sliding his nose along her neck, stopping just above her collarbone. “I’m sorry.”

“I hated you for that,” she admitted.

“I know,” he said softly, this time not placating, but soothingly – rewarding her honesty with a gentle kiss on the hollow of her throat. “Do you still?” His whole body had stilled, awaiting her decision.

She knew that if she said yes, he’d leave her be. Bond or no – he’d never force her into something she didn’t want.

But she didn’t _want_ it, did she?

Turning her face, he allowed her enough space to look into his eyes. They reflected her grief, and she had no doubt he knew how she felt. How being powerless and lost could lead to strength once the tears had dried, after there was nothing left but a need for retribution. How there was strength in weakness, once you’ve acknowledged it.

Did she hate him?

She had barely sounded her response – _No_ – when his mouth was on hers, feasting on her lips, her jaw, her neck. Her skin crackled in response, sizzling against the ground.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nesta whispered breathlessly, hands vibrating with untapped energy at her sides.

Cassian looked up from her throat, lips swollen like an animal slating his hunger after centuries of starvation. She gasped at the black of his eyes, almost all-consuming. A tingle ran from the nape of her neck, where his hand now fisted her hair, to her toes now inching up his thigh to finally rest on the small of his back.

“Hurt me,” he growled, and dragged her mouth to his. He licked tentative, soft laps at her bottom lip – nipping with teeth and soothing with his tongue in flawless rotation.

Reaching up, she grazed her fingers along his scalp, pulling on his hair as she had wished to do for days now. He groaned into her mouth in response. Feeling emboldened, she allowed her second hand to join the first.

At this, he broke their kiss and opened his mouth in ecstasy, pupils now completely taking over his eyes. A true beast in his final form. “Nesta,” he whispered reverently. “I feel you in my _blood_.”

The evidence of his arousal dug a groove in her belly and she tightened the grip on his hips with her leg, wrapping the other to cocoon him into her. She felt the ground shake with his moan of approval.

It was animalistic, it was raw, it was certainly dirty but she’d bathe in ash if it meant fate would allow her to _feel_ this with another person. Sated, she licked her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers along the seam. Asking, always asking, for the right to do anything. Even now.

She allowed him entry into her mouth, swallowing his breath as he kissed her like she was his _reason_ for breathing.

A glow lit the inside of her eyelids, and she hoped the sun hadn’t returned. She didn’t want their flood to end. But it hadn’t. The light was coming from her – a white glow illuminating her skin, bouncing off the shelter of his wings.

It didn’t crackle with anger, it didn’t flash with grief. It wrapped them in a warm light, reaching out in tendrils that licked against their skin. It was like magic.

A smile broke across Cassian’s face – pure, unbridled joy – and Nesta wished she could bottle the moment, storm and all. She’d release it on the world like a river until it drowned every bad thing, and all that was left was this.


	6. Chapter 6

“Cassian…”

His hands were knuckle-deep in Nesta’s hair, pulling harder each time she moaned in pleasure. She was being consumed – inch by inch – but it still wasn’t enough.

“Mm,” he murmured in question, preoccupied with nibbling on an exquisitely sensitive part of her lower neck.

Mother save her. She no longer recognized her voice, muttering nonsense as Cassian found yet another square of skin to torture.

“Cassian… I – this energy,” she held her trembling hands in his line of sight, “it’s driving me crazy and _this…_ it’s making it better somehow.” Nesta felt the anxiousness leak from her body with every suck of his mouth, every breath he transmitted into her. “One night, that’s all I’m asking.”  

His molten eyes shot to hers. Hovering over her face, arms now braced on either side of her head to cradle her, he asked, “By _this_ you mean, us… together.”

Nesta nodded fervently, biting down on her bottom lip. She couldn’t take another rejection. If she opened the door to have it ignored again, she’d find a way for it to _never_ open.

As it was, during Cassian’s journey from mouth to cheek to chin – she’d pried the knob back into place. She wanted to hear him, in every sense of the word. When his bond latched to her mind once again, and sent the first wave of audible pleasure, she’d squeezed her legs together and wished for release. His desire was overwhelming.

He was still scanning her face for any sign she’d suddenly snap out of a haze, and resume her hatred for him. It wasn’t going to happen, not when her body was poised to climb him and just _demand_ he give her a chance to please him – to please them both.

Groaning, he unfurled his wings and gathered her in his arms, carrying her to the back door of the cabin. He didn’t let go – even as he opened the door, called for the others, read the note that they’d gone to dinner, and carried her swiftly up the ladder to the attic. All in the span of three minutes.

She wanted to laugh at his humorless expression, though she knew she should be taking it as seriously as he was. “You’d think I was asking you to escort me to a bed of nails,” Nesta played, poking the crease in his brow.

Cassian looked down at her, eyebrow lifted in question. He still hadn’t let her out of his arms, though they’d arrived in her bedroom moments ago. Lips quirking, he released her to free-fall into the mass of blankets and pillows. A yelp lodged in her throat.

“You could have at least let me undress,” she huffed, adjusting a pillow under her head. “But if you _insist_ on laundry duty tomorrow, I’ll allow it.”

He just laughed, a rich sound seemingly carried upward from his belly. Up from… One glance and she could see that he still strained against his pants, his own body this time reaching for her. She swallowed hard, meeting his eyes.

“So… that _reaction_ is normal around me.”

“More common than I care to admit,” he admitted, soaking in every inch of her sprawled body – his gaze like a physical touch. “May I take these off?”

She followed his line of sight to where he toyed with the strings securing her leather pants. Nodding went unnoticed, so she replied, “Yes, please.”

Cassian growled. “Mother above, don’t get polite on me now, sweetness. This’ll be over before it starts.”

Ignited by his words, Nesta readjusted to perch in front of him, legs underneath her, knees touching his thighs. Her past rejections and hurt were screaming for her to stop. Stamping them out, she lifted the hem of her shirt above her head, watching his nose flair as he drank her in. She felt beautiful, and he murmured a low curse… allowing one finger to travel from the base of her throat, between her breasts, ending in a circle around her belly button.

“Please, Cassian. Enough talking. Enough _thinking_.” She had spent her whole life controlling herself – her instincts, her passion, her _need._ One hand unraveled the tie, while the other slipped a thumb in her waistband. “Let’s not pretend there’s a formality to our situation.”

Wings rustling, he bowed to crowd her space, looking up from beneath dark brows. “As you wish.”

Pushing her backward, he replaced her fingers with his own, one swift movement leaving her leathers on the floor. Faulting a step, he looked up at her. “You’re _beautiful_.”

“And you sound surprised,” Nesta replied, cocking her head on the pillow. She fortunately sounded more confident than she felt. It was an effort not to bury herself deeper in blankets, to hide away.

Hands hovering over her thighs, he said, “This doesn’t have to mean you’ve accepted the bond, you know that right?”

She nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m going to touch you now.” And she felt the words tattooed into her skin like a prayer.

Before she could respond, his fingers glided down the seam of her core and her body bowed in response, hands fisting in the sheets beside her waist. _Oh…_

When he found his mark – fingertip circling the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs – he said, “ _Fuck_ , Nesta. You’re ready.” Something like awe reflected in his gaze.

Leaning up to grab his shirt by the collar, Nesta ripped it down the middle, never taking her eyes off his. “I was _ready_ outside in the mud.” Fisting her hand in his hair at the nape of his neck, she dragged his mouth to hers, moaning in appreciation as his tongue readily leapt to meet hers halfway.

He broke the union only briefly to undo his own pants, and his leisurely movements made her want to strangle him. She gripped him over leather, feeling him twitch in response. “Lay back, woman,” he said through his teeth.

She obeyed immediately, relishing in the way he took control. She watched as he revealed himself, achingly slow. He was taking his time, she realized. For her – to what? Change her mind?

“Let me see,” she breathed, sliding her toes up his leg to the band of his pants, encouraging him to go lower.

He released an unearthly sound, grasping her foot and kneading, moving to the other and down her calves. Slowly maneuvering her knees farther apart until she was laid open for him.

Guiding her hand to her slick heat, he moved her fingers in circles, allowing her to feel her own anticipating. “Keep moving.”

She’d touched herself before, bring herself to the brink of climax but never over. His burning gaze watched as she complied willingly, the moment breathtakingly erotic. She felt like a goddess.

“You’re _my_ goddess,” he murmured, possessiveness shrouding him. “And I’ll worship you until you tell me to stop.”

Her eyes shot to his, and then to where he had released himself, gripping the head of his cock brutally and moving downward. There was so much of him, her canal clenched in response.

“I’ve never…”

“I know. We’ll go slow until you’ve adjusted. Then… then I’m taking all of you.”

Her muscles began to tighten, coiled for release but she wasn’t ready. Not until it was with him. Noticing her full stop, Cassian dipped to his knees, coming inches from her core and ran a tongue from bottom to top, sighing with satisfaction.

The sight of him on his knees, eyes locked with hers as he feasted on her sensitivity… it was too much.

Nesta gripped his hair, sending waves of energy through his scalp. “I – I want it to happen with you inside me.”

His grip on her thighs tightened as he straightened. The sight of his lips, gleaming with her readiness, sweat crowning his brow as a result of his restraint – she was close to enslaving herself to his raw sexuality.

He tore the tatters of his shirt from his shoulders and leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face. Every touch was so loving it almost broke her.

She placed a hand over the scratches on his cheek, frowning. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I’ve endured worse,” he said solemnly, glancing his lips off hers.

“Enough pain, then,” she said, and hoped he understood that she wasn’t referring to just physical injury. Reaching between them, she glided her hand along the smooth skin of his arousal, wrapping fingers around its girth and pumping once like she’d seen him do.

Veins pulsed in her palm and he let out a string of unintelligible words before standing upright.

Cassian gripped her hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed, lifting one leg to rest on his shoulder while wrapping the other around the small of his back. “Guide me in,” he forced out, eyes blazing into her own, bond humming like a live explosive.

Never looking away, Nesta reached again for him and held on, nudging her entrance, up to her clit and then back again. His eyes looked like they were about to roll out of his skull.

“Now, Cassian,” she whimpered, close to exploding with need.

He inched forward, one hand secured to her thigh, the other pressed on her belly, until she felt his head nestle into her. _Oh gods…_

“Say my name again, beautiful girl,” he said, reaching to pinch her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolling slowly.

“ _Ah,_ Cassian!”

He pushed into her another inch, groaning at the feeling of her stretching to allow him in. “Grab my hand.”

She reached out, weaving their fingers together and coming to a rest above her head.

“This may hurt, love. But I’ve got you.”

Withdrawing momentarily, he kissed her. The moment their tongues met, he slammed into her to the hilt. All the air left her lungs and she gasped violently against his lips. Hands came to her face, soothing the lines from her forehead.

She’d never felt so _full_. A slight pain nipped at her insides upon impact, and the rest of was growing to accommodate his size. Still, she felt little else other than immense pleasure.

He rolled his hips, coating himself in her juices, until every inch of her walls were marked with him. “Amazing. You are… you feel _amazing_.”

“Again,” she begged, gripping his shoulders, allowing him to feel the instruments of lightning her fingers had become.

Resuming his stance, Cassian withdrew and looked down to where they joined, face bunched in concentration. He looked like a god. Of sex, of war… of her.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered. “Remember… you have one night to make it count.” She’d be fooling herself if she said he hadn’t already accomplished that. Her body was likely molded for him alone for eternity.

He reached down to spread her even further, pressing a thumb on her bundle of nerves and penetrated her with enough force that the bed moved against the floor. Another moan escaped her lips. “What did I tell you about provoking an Illyrian,” he asked, smirking down at her.

And then he really _moved_. Slow, fast, grinding his manhood into her like he couldn’t be deep enough – his hands were everywhere: her stomach, her legs, her breasts. When they wrapped around her throat, she held his wrist, holding him in place.

“ _Gods_ – I…,” he stopped himself, pain etching his face. “Turn over.”

She had no choice but to obey as he withdrew completely, leaving her empty. She flipped onto her stomach.

“On all fours,” he growled.

Knees curved beneath her and elbows bent in front to support her weight, she looked over her shoulder. “Like this?”

He skimmed a hand down her spine to her ass, kneading gently, worshiping. “You’re perfect,” he replied, sliding her knees further apart so she was level for reentry.

She watched as he held himself, staring reverently down at her. “My turn.” She smiled at the look of surprise on his face before angling herself downward, slipping over him until he was buried within her, his hand moving away from his base to allow her access.

Cassian roared with pleasure, digging his fingers into her hips. She felt the vibration through her belly, making her toes curl with relief.

“Again,” he said this time.

Rotating, she slid forward and back, slapping into him as she increased her fervor. Sweat broke anew along her back with the effort, but she couldn’t stop. She felt him part her ass and looked back to see him watching their union.

Her elbows began to shake with exhaustion, and he leaned forward to hook his arms around her chest, pulling her upward to his own. Teeth grazed her neck as his hands planted on her hip and shoulder.

Moving his hips in lazy circles, he ground into her, reaching to toy with her clit.

She could barely breathe – he was _everywhere_. Inside, outside, wrapped around her. Holding her here. A single, solitary source to ground her.

Her muscles bunched as he increased his fingers’ speed, swallowing her moans as he turned her head to kiss her.

“Cassian… I’m about to…”

“Mark me. I’ll go with you,” he replied against her lips.

Suddenly, he shifted – slamming into her again and again, never stopping the unrelenting movement of his hands. One beneath her, another reached across to roll her nipple.

Light began cracking along her skin, marking the paths where her veins were and exploding outward. She had just allowed it to encase them in white light when her body reached the summit and came hurtling downward in an explosion of ecstasy.

She registered the feel of herself clamping around Cassian while he held her for dear life and released inside of her.

Still joined, Nesta allowed her body to be swayed by the heavy movements of his chest.

Finally, he murmured, “You need a bath.”

She released herself from him and turned to stroke his matted hair back from his lovely face. His eyes had returned to a lovely shade of hazel, silently laughing at her frown.  “Look who’s talking.”

“Is that a no? Because I can bring the bath to you… in buckets.”

Shaking her head sleepily, she allowed him to pick her up and carry her like a child downstairs to the tub. He turned the faucet, one hand under the stream of water checking for temperature, the other wrapped around her wrist to keep her by his side.

“Together?” One eyebrow raised, he scoffed at her expression.

“Yes, Nesta. _Together_.”

“But your wings…”

“It will be a tight fit, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

He scooped her up and carried her in, careful not to slosh water over the sides, and turned her so she had her back to his chest. They submerged into the delicious heat with a mutual sigh.

Gathering a bar of lavender soap from the dish, he washed her shoulders, her arms, between her fingers. Only stopping his ministrations to lather her hair and dip her scalp beneath the surface. Submitting to his kneading palms, she nestled into his chest and lay her head on his shoulder, peering up to see him already watching her.

Comfortability was a foreign concept for Nesta, especially with someone outside of her immediate family. Even then, she had never bathed with her sisters. She understood the familiarity it resulted in, though – the base action of cleaning someone without expectation.

Her mind was in knots, but she refused to dwell on the way his eyes followed the planes of her face – sketching them into his mind for the moment when she would again refuse him. Because she had _said_ she would. This was temporary, a reprieve from the emotional chaos that had dominated her life up until that point.

Still, the idea of leaving the warmth of his arms felt like heartbreak. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that realization.

Turning to grab the soap, she returned his favor – kneading and washing to where the water had drawn a boundary along his body. When she arrived at his scalp, scratching softly, he closed his eyes and leaned back to accommodate her. The water was getting colder, murky with the evidence of their day.

Cassian placed a finger under her chin, angling upward until his eyes met hers. For once the bond was silent, but only because he reflected his feelings across his face like a naked truth. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She tilted her head in question.

He slid a hand along her hair, wringing out the ends. “For trusting me. For allowing me in… just for a moment.”

Nesta’s heart clenched, opening her mouth to say… what? Stay with her, learn to live with a female whose spirit was broken a long time ago? With someone who would never deserve his efforts?

He could be happy – with someone who trusted him completely, someone who wouldn’t ferment in anger or diminish his self-worth with cutting comments to disguise her own vulnerability.

A door closed downstairs, and she heard the pleasant muffled banter between the group of her new companions. Glancing back at Cassian, she fixed a smile and let herself run a finger from his brow to his mouth, tapping on his bottom lip. “It was worth it.”

Standing and stepping out of the bath, away from her heart that lay crumpled in dirty water, she wrapped a towel around herself.

“It doesn’t have to end,” he said behind her, defeat already coloring his voice. “Not like this.”

“Yes… it does.”

Nailing the coffin closed, Nesta tightened her grip on the towel and left – never stopping to look back.


	7. Chapter 7

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” a voice said from the living room.

Looking up from the bottom of the stair, Nesta stood warily, unsure how to make her entrance after everything that had happened that night. Leave it to the tiny evil being to call her out.

“Nice of _you_ to finally show up,” Nesta shot back, glowering at her.

Amren snickered, shaking her black bob and pointing a finger. “I knew I’d like you. Spirit, that one,” she defined to the others who were standing rigidly, watching the exchange.

Cassian was not among them. _Strange._

She’d taken her time dressing, wrapping her hair in a messy bun, staring at the rumpled bed sheets, still warm with the evidence of them together. Wasted moments absorbing his scent before it sank beneath the floor boards, and left her completely.

If they thought Cassian’s absence was out of the ordinary, they didn’t let it show. Only Azriel turned his nose up, eventually meeting her gaze with a look of surprise. He turned toward Elain, speaking without saying a word, until she too cast her an incredulous stare.

_Great. Thanks, Az._

 “Well, now that you’re here,” Rhys said, coming forward. “Our informant has alerted us that several High Lords in the other courts have caught wind of Tamlin’s betrayal and they, too, are planning an upheaval. _But_ they’re not sure how to go about it.”

“That’s where we come in,” Mor announced triumphantly.

“Right, so now we go back to Velaris. Are you packed?”

Nesta squared her shoulders. She’d been missing the soft sounds of their home more than she cared to admit. “Yes, I’m ready to go.”

“As am I,” a deep voice said behind her.

Spine snapped straight, Nesta turned to face Cassian a stair above her, keeping her eyes trained on the hands fisted at his sides.

“Good,” Rhys inclined. “Then we’ll leave in ten. Everyone meet here.”

Footsteps signaled the huddle’s break, all out to seek their personal belongings for the trip home.

“Cass-,” Nesta started, but he had already turned to leave the way he came.

Sighing heavily, she turned to see her sister a step away, a frown creasing her brow as she watched Cassian’s departure. She held a plate up, saying softly, “I thought you’d both be hungry when you didn’t meet us for dinner.”

Nodding thanks, Nesta took the plate and ignored the sadness radiating from Elain. She knew, _of course_ she knew.

Still, the food smelled delicious and she was practically ravenous. Picking at the boiled meat with her fingers, she dipped some in the mashed potatoes and savored the flavors. The food really was better than the human realm, but it would be a long time until she admitted that. Not after she’d given Feyre hell for looking like she’d handed her a pile of plated ash when they visited their father’s home.

Licking her fingers lazily as she shuffled forward along the second-floor landing, she heard the sounds of buckles being secured and buttons clasping from behind the door closest to the ladder. The girls hadn’t come up yet, so the most logical explanation was that _he_ was behind door number three.

Knocking gently, she heard the commotion of packing halt and steps in her direction.

Cassian answered, leaning his forearm on the doorframe above her head. “Yes?”

_Okay, not happy to see me, then._

“Elain brought us home dinner,” Nesta said weakly, presenting the plate, now half-demolished from her poking and prodding. “I had some, obviously. It didn’t come like this.”

The frame beneath his arm groaned from bearing his full weight. “I’m fine.”

“Come on, Cassian. I understand you’re not necessarily pleased with the way we ended things tonight, but you have to eat.” She grimaced at the way it sounded like pleading. “It’s a long trip home.”

He studied her for a moment, eyes blackening. “ _I_ didn’t end anything, Nesta. _You_ did. And for reasons I’ll never understand – but that’s you, isn’t it? Doing what you please with no regard for anyone other than yourself. I do, however, blame myself for reading too much into our first meeting.”

Nesta’s shoulders cowered with every word. He was right, but this was for his own good. _Wasn’t it?_ But… “Our first meeting?”

“It doesn’t matter now – it was completely wrong. _I_ was wrong. Thank you for releasing me from my own delusions.” He shut the door in her face with a quiet _snick_.

The howling wind in her mind blew fiercely, but it wasn’t trying to get to her… it was trying to get to him. He’d closed _her_ out this time.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ready?” Elain’s head popped from the attic opening.

_To drop dead in the grave I’ve dug? Yes, absolutely._ “Almost,” Nesta responded, shoving a mound of clothing into her pack. She wore her mud-caked leathers again, her own badge of self-resentment.

Elain said softly behind her, “You know if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Her hand stilled. “I know. But, there’s nothing to talk about,” she said cheerily, mouth burning from the lie.

“Well,” Elain muttered, palm brushing the sawdust on the floor beside her. “Anyway – the sentiment remains. _Anytime._ ”

“Yes, yes. I’m aware. Now go! I’ll be late.”

When she was sure she could hear Elain’s retreating steps, Nesta breathed a ragged breath and reinforced the wall around her heart. She didn’t have to worry about locking the door around her mind – Cassian had already accomplished that on his own. Anyway, the crack she’d allowed to open for his bond to connect to was already sealing shut like a wound. Scabbing and stitching together.

She tore the sheets from the bed, leaving them in a heap on the floor – _let someone else be responsible for cleaning up_ – and slung her bag over her back. Breathing deep, she walked downstairs.

Mor waited with a hand open to her. The others had gone already, and not wanting to spend another second in the cabin, she grabbed tight – relishing in the way the darkness consumed her, blotting out her bursts of energy like stars in the sky.

The last thing she heard was Mor’s soft voice. “Hold tight.”

 

* * *

 

Bright sun washed them clean of shadow as the familiar sights and sounds of Velaris at last appeared. They’d winnowed onto the street below the town home, a soft breeze blowing the warm scent of springtime around them.

Nesta sighed with relief.

“One might assume you’re actually _enjoying_ it here,” Mor whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She winked and strode up the stairs.

“Oh,” she turned. “By the way, don’t get too comfortable.”

Fear seized Nesta’s chest.

“We’re going to Rita’s tonight and I expect you to dress in your finest. Or you can borrow something of mine, whatever you please,” Mor added, grinning mischievously.

Waving weakly, Nesta watched her open the front door before she could process the request. “Wait… Rita’s?” But Mor had already gone.

Secured safely in the comfort of her old room, Nesta fingered through the dresses lining her wardrobe. _Drab, drab, awful._ When she ordered her things to be delivered here, she didn’t realize all of her things were so utterly boring. She stopped at a black gown, high-necked and glittering with jewels that lined the sheer bodice. A slit ran up one side to allow her legs to move freely, and dipped in the back with even more panels of glittering gauze to cover her spine in luxurious draping.

She’d never seen anything like it. Surely not something she’d allow herself to wear in the human realm, so obviously not hers. But then, when _would_ she have worn it? To the annual apple picking festival? To tea with friends?

Scoffing inwardly, she took immense pleasure in imagining the looks on her friends’ faces if they saw her appear to luncheon in something like that.

For those reasons alone, she took it off the hanger and lay it gently across the bed. Selecting a black ribbon from the spool beside her vanity, and a pair of midnight shoes with low heels, she set them both beside the dress. It already had enough shine to prevent her from needing any additional jewelry.

The sun was setting beyond her window, casting golden planes along the floor. She could see the first streetlamps lighting along the main road, one after the other, all the way into the city. It was a lovely evening, quiet but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more comfortable in a place. She understood why Feyre felt so passionately about Velaris – why she was so resistant to outsiders seeing it, even when it was for the sake of a bargain with the human queens.

Yes, the queens would surely get what was coming to them. Nesta preferred that she was the one who provided the killing blow. She wasn’t sure how far her power reached, but a part of her felt as if she could decimate worlds if she so wished. The roiling anger, the need for revenge, was the only thing sheltering her from the loneliness.

_You did this to yourself._

Shuddering a breath, she unbound herself from her leathers, taking time to gently wash away the mud in the bathroom sink. Looking up to the wide mirror above, she noticed angry marks marring her naked skin. Her shoulder, her breasts. Some from training, some from _other_ things. She hoped the latter never went away.

Touching a tentative finger to a red blotch above her collarbone, she closed her eyes and pressed until it hurt.

“Nesta?” Elain stood in the doorway, watching her.

Nesta cleared her throat and turned, attempting to cover her nakedness as best she could. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” Another pasted smile secured itself in place.

Elain tilted her head. “You don’t have to smile with me. I’d prefer if you didn’t at this point… it’s starting to scare me.” She fought a grin as she continued, “Is that the dress you’re wearing tonight? It’s… not like you. I love it.”

“I’m glad,” she replied. “I guess if you’re going to stand unfazed by my being unclothed, the most you could do is help me into it.” Nesta strode toward the bed, collecting her underwear and stepping into it. It was a black lacy thing that hugged her hips and bunched behind her. Light and form-fitting. It felt… new. “And _where_ did these come from?” She perked an eyebrow at her sister who was twirling a ribbon between her fingers, looking inconspicuous.

“Well,” she replied, throwing her hands up. “You can’t just wear your normal undergarments! They’d show.”

“Mm, and I’m guessing you just had these lying around. I don’t even want to know why that is.”

Elain blushed furiously. _I_ definitely _don’t want to know. Still…_

“You and Azriel seem to be faring well. Quick friends, and all that,” Nesta asked innocently, turning to unclasp the back of the dress.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes… he’s kinder than I think people give him credit for. Not one of those typical males who blather on and on about nothing. He listens, and is patient,” Elain said, voice drifting into nothing. “It was a tough transition, but he’s one of the only people who hasn’t asked me to pursue my abilities – whatever those are.”

Nesta met her gaze. “I’m sorry… I should have asked how you were doing with this whole situation. I know I’ve been selfish in that respect. I just worried that you’d overwhelm yourself. We lived so closed-off from the world as it really is that I thought pursuing the conversation would be difficult for you.”

“It _has_ been difficult, but at the same time, I like it here… with them. It’s rare that you’re allowed in your life the chance to be yourself, and not hide behind the mask of a timid female. Father, Graysen – they all spoke _for_ me, never allowed me to have a voice. Even you, sometimes.”

“Oh, Elain,” she took her hands. “I never meant to make you feel like your voice was best left unheard. I just… control things. I feel safer that way – when I know I’m the one to blame if it all goes badly. I guess I just felt as if you shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden.”

Elain grinned up at her. “Fine, all is forgiven. Now do me a favor and cover yourself, because I _refuse_ to hug you while you’re naked.”

“Right,” she replied, gathering the fabric and sliding into it, rotating so Elain had better access to the closures.

“Wow…”

“Wow, in a bad way?” Nesta peeked in the vanity mirror and could hardly believe it was her looking back. She’d never seen herself look more… sensual. The fabric gripped her body’s edges, sparkling as the movable fabric stretched with every breath. It trailed a few inches, promising a dramatic exit as well as entrance. She ran a finger along the beaded bodice, adjusting her breasts so the fabric covered them snugly. The rest of her abdomen was revealed through sheer panels.

“I think you’re going to look better than me, for once,” Elain joked, prodding her in the ribs. “Here, sit down. I’ll do your hair.”

It was a strange sensation: having her sister care for her instead of the other way around, but it was nice. She watched as Elain’s deft fingers plaited her hair, weaving the ribbon she’d chosen into it, and crowning her head. She left a few curling strands down to cover her ears, a kindness Nesta didn’t miss. Adding a few jeweled pins to create a makeshift tiara, she planted a kiss on her cheek to signal she was done.

“Now all you need is some rouge and a little kohl to line your eyes, and you’ll look like a queen,” Elain said, turning to leave.

“Wait, Elain,” Nesta reached. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ for giving me a real smile this time,” she beamed, rushing out to get ready herself.

Touching her fingers to her lips, Nesta hadn’t realized she’d been smiling but it felt… good. Genuine. And totally unlike her.

Putting the finishing touches – a bit of rouge on her lips and cheeks, and an artful flick of kohl atop her lids – she slipped on her shoes and stood in front of the mirror observing herself.

“Here goes nothing,” she breathed, running a hand to smooth a stray flyaway hair.

As she made her way down the stair, she could hear the sound of Amren bickering with Rhys and him laughing in response. Part of her wanted to scream at him for finding joy in anything when her sister was gone, but she understood it. They all coped in different ways, and she swore that sometimes she could hear him murmur her name under his breath when no one was listening.

Mor was the first to greet her in the living room entryway, clapping her hands and _oohing_ at her. “That, my dear, is definitely not what I expected you to choose. You’re welcome, by the way. Thought I’d slip that in your wardrobe for a special occasion.”

“Where’s the rest of the dress?” Amren questioned mockingly.

Nesta slid her eyes toward her. “Don’t you have something to do, like drink a pint of blood and leave me alone for the rest of eternity?”

Amren clapped this time, albeit less girly in manner. It sounded more like a death-drum. “See? Spirit!” And then she was off to wherever it was she went – most likely taking Nesta’s heed to drink before her mood got even worse.

Rhys came over, kissing her on the cheek. “You look beautiful, truly. Now if only your beloved sister would come down!” He yelled with his voice turned upward in the direction of Elain’s room.

Glancing toward where Azriel now chuckled deeply, shaking his head to the floor, she noticed Cassian standing beside him – still as death and staring at the strip of belly the gauze revealed. He looked poised to strike, throat rolling as he audibly swallowed.

He was dressed in tailored gray pants and a white dress shirt that was rolled up to reveal the band of muscles within his forearms. Everything seemed molded to accommodate his massive structure. She’d have to thank whoever their seamstress was for that.

Nesta turned to look at the stairs, feigning impatience for her sister, willing the fire lighting her skin to a rosy hue to fade… and fast.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming,” Elain’s voice carried before she came into view, hopping down the stairs. “So impatient,” she continued, sticking a tongue in Rhys’s direction.

Nesta felt the air leave her lungs, fighting to stay upright as she viewed Elain. A pale pink bolt of silk encircled her, gaps left at her ribs and back. She was a vision with her hair down and curled, and a joyous grin across her face.

She heard someone choke behind her, and turned to see Azriel’s shadows turned up to eleven. He took a step toward her, the boldest she’d ever seen him, and offered his arm to Elain. She happily wrapped her small hand around his forearm, smiling in thanks. “Shall we,” he inquired to everyone, but only looking at her.

 

* * *

 

 

Rita’s was a fae-lit structure of thumping music and raucous nightlife. Fae of every age crammed in to move with the beat of strong, sensual songs Nesta had never heard before. It felt like a place where they could be free with themselves, with their… preferences.

She’d never seen inhibition like they’d displayed: females with males, males with males, females with females, some with groups of both sexes.

When they’d arrived, a path created itself through the citizens of Velaris, aware that the protectors of their people – their High Lord – was among them. A group of giggling Fae offered their booth toward the back of the dance floor and they slid in, Cassian and Azriel at the front to allow space for their wings. Mor and Elain shifted excitedly on either side of her.

“Drinks, anyone?” Rhys leaned over to listen to the order of the others, finally looking expectedly at her.

“Uh… I um, whatever you’re having,” she blurted.

He laughed. “Okay, if you’re _sure_.”

“I can handle it, whatever it is.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replied, laughing again. “I’ll be back.”

A beam of red light speared her table and she looked out to the crowd of massing bodies. The dancefloor was a spiraling display of green, blue, white – a shifting wave as people moved with one another.

A set of eyes from a tall male, lean with his face shrouded in shadow from his curling brown hair, met hers in the distance. Crooking a finger, he beckoned. She looked away instantly, only to notice the gaggle of women – tall and gorgeous – that had now stopped to converse with the Illyrians heading their table. Elain was practically quaking as she, too, observed.

Azriel, to his defense, didn’t look interested in the least bit. Cassian, however… Nesta watched as he grinned at the women, accepting a slip of paper from one, allowed her fingers to linger in his palm.

“Right,” she said to no one, Mor and Elain facing her with silent question.

She waved a palm for them to let her out, Mor complying first. She practically smashed her hip into Cassian to signal him to move. He grunted and flew into the touchy female, gripping her by the shoulders before turning to glare at Mor. “What the hell?”

Mor smiled sweetly up at him, her smile edged like a knife. “Nesta needed out, and you were in the way.”

Rhys came through, precariously carrying several drinks in his hands and arms, looking at the exchange warily. Finally deciding it wasn’t worth interfering – to which Nesta said silent thanks – he handed her the drink.

She drank it all in one go, immediately regretting the action as it scorched a path from her throat to her belly. Coughing, she looked at Rhys who had his mouth opened like he meant to warn her specifically _not_ to do that. “What is that? Poison?”

“Some would say so. Illyrian whiskey,” he clarified.

_Add it to the list of Illyrian items never entering her body again._

“Great… well, I’m going to dance.”

“I’m coming too,” Elain announced as Mor threw back her own drink and raised her hand as a volunteer escort.

They slid out, leaving the males to fend for themselves, and hooked arms with Nesta.

“You look too good to sit in a booth all night anyway,” Mor yelled over the music. “Waste of a dress.”

Nodding, she allowed herself to be led into the thrall – floor quaking with the beat of a sitar and heavy drums. Banners of sheer scarves waved from people’s arms, a cyclone of color. Low heels were an appropriate choice, then, as most were barefoot, submitting completely to the song – to each other.

They reached the center of the dancefloor, directly beneath one of the many spotlights that highlighted clusters of dancers. Mor began to move instantly, Elain throwing her hands up and around Nesta’s neck, urging her to sway her hips.

The movements felt jaunted and strange at first, but then the crowd closed in around them. She had no choice but to submit to the rhythm, or else be trampled underfoot. It was freeing in a way, to not have to care about judging eyes, and she threw her head back and laughed.

Hands encircled her waist and she tensed when she saw the same curly-haired stranger from earlier behind her. He swayed her body along with his, breath puffing on her bare back. Looking up, she saw Mor and Elain were dancing with each other, unaware she was being pulled away.

“Just one dance, pretty girl,” the stranger whispered in her ear, tightening his grip. “But first… what’s your name?”

She looked over her shoulder, into his gray eyes, reflecting every color around them. He was breathtakingly handsome. A mischievous smile made her grin back. _Nothing wrong with a little fun._ “Nesta,” she replied, reaching a hand back to steady herself on his neck, pulling in even closer until every angle of him was flush against her. “My name is Nesta.”

He groaned a response, swiping the stray hairs from her neck to whisper _Nesta_ against her skin. The drumbeat thrummed through their bodies until they vibrated at the same frequency. It was electrifying – and not due to anger or sadness, but pure sexuality.

Fingers stroked her mind, whispering her name again and again and again.

She was falling into a lull of unadulterated feeling. It felt like a sedative.

Her mind couldn’t discern between warning bells and the strum of a guitar as he spun her around, catching her in his arms. She laughed lazily, beaming up at him. _So handsome._

Hands gripped her shoulders. But that wasn’t right… stranger’s hands were around her waist. Suddenly, she was being pulled back against a sturdy chest. Stranger’s face was twisted in anger, glaring at whoever interrupted their playtime.

Giggling, she looked up to see Cassian saying something to him. _Beautiful mouth. So beautiful._ She reached up to trace the outline of his lips with shaking fingers. Trying hard to steady herself made her laugh with the concentration.

He looked down, frown marring his forehead.

“Bed of nails,” Nesta slurred, giggling again.

Looking to where Mor and Elain were, she realized they’d stopped dancing. They reached out with concern, then thinking better of it when they saw the look on Cassian’s face, they cast a wary glance and resumed dancing.

“You let your shield down,” Cassian said to her, grasping her chin to tilt her eyes up to meet his. “I should kill him for getting inside it. Don’t let it happen again. Are… are you even listening to me?”

Anger radiated off of him, eyes almost completely black. Like… like they’d been during…

Nesta’s blood was on fire, need taking its time carving a mark into her inhibition. Her movements felt sluggish, but she turned to throw an arm around his shoulders and leaned up on her toes to say, “Dance with me.”

A response lay waiting on his lips, battling with his thoughts. “You’ve been affected. You should…”

She ground into his front when a cymbal crashed. “Don’t hate me tonight. I need to… I need…”

Cassian cursed under his breath, banding his arms around her. When he nuzzled into her neck, submitting to her will, he muttered, “I could never hate you, Nesta. If this is what you want tonight, let it be with me.”

She pulled back with a grin. “And the other female? The one with the hands and the note?” She realized absentmindedly that she wasn’t making any sense, but he got the point well enough.

“Invited me to bed her. Why,” he whispered, licking a flame from one side of her neck to the other, stopping just below her ear. “Does that bother you?”

Nesta growled, pushing even further into him, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. She bit into his neck hard and he gasped. She felt animalistic, possessive. “Mine,” she said, licking his wound. He tasted of salt and soap. She wanted to eat him alive, to keep him inside her.

“I know you’re not in your right mind, but Mother, you have no idea what hearing you say that does to me.” To prove his point, he ground his arousal into her belly.

Desire slithered through her core, but she kept moving. She’d soon die from dehydration from the slickness coating her thighs, but it seemed a pleasant way to die.

“Cassian,” she whimpered pathetically, desperate for release.

He groaned, catching her free leg around his waist as she pushed into him. “You’re not in your right mind,” he seemed to say as much for himself as for her. “But I can _smell_ you, and fuck it’s driving me mad.”

His words sobered her just enough to grip his face in her hands, watching the different colored lights dance along his brow, his cheeks, his lips. “Are you denying me? I’m sure I can find the other male again.”

“One of these days,” he whispered, warning quirking his lips into a smirk. “I’m going to find a button of _yours_ , and I won’t stop pushing it until you feel as I do now.”

He took her hand and dragged her from the dancefloor, a path once again opening for them. For _him,_ she realized. Not stopping until they were in a dark pathway behind the bar, he released her only to block the entryway by a rolling cart of bottles.

Cassian turned, predator smile turned up to frightening levels, Nesta felt her insides clench in anticipation. Yes, she felt her mind returning to her now. She backed up until she hit a boarded-up cutaway window, perching atop it and crooking a finger toward him.

“Come here,” she whispered, angling her knees further apart.

He took his time, walking lazily over to her, fingers unclasping his pants one button at a time. When he reached her, he ran a hand up a bare leg, using the other to bunch her dress in her waist – revealing all of her to him.

“It’s not been twenty-four hours, and I already miss the feel of you,” he gritted, sliding a finger up her core on top of her underwear, stopping to hook his fingers on either side of the lace. “You won’t need these anymore.” One swift movement, and the lace was in strips on the floor.

“You’d think you had your fill on the battle field proclaiming your strength,” she said mockingly. “No need to take it out on my undergarments.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he said before plunging a finger inside of her. She gasped, clasping his shoulder and throwing her head back. “I’ll buy you ten for every piece I destroy.”

She could feel her body quickening, already on the cusp of release. “Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to allow me to come with you inside me again?”

He cursed, adding a finger, widening her with slow circles before lifting the fingers to his lips and sucking. She was going to pass out.

“Just because you asked so nicely,” he said before sliding into her, this time his hand used to position his cock at her entrance until he was sheathed inside her completely.

They moaned in unison. Cassian wrapped an arm around her back, palm splayed across her naked back, murmuring _‘So sweet’_ into her neck as he pumped slowly in and out.

“Harder,” she said, gripping his ass, urging him onward.

He responded by picking her up by the waist, still mounted, and lifted her to slam into him again and again. She held onto his shoulders for dear life, lightning already roiling inside her, begging to be let out. She was going to shatter… and soon.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, Nesta dragged his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss of tongue and teeth, biting on his bottom lip while she rolled her body around him. Angling so her clit was flush against his belly, massaged by firm muscles.

“Mine,” he said this time, latching onto her neck.

She was near the crest, breathing stagnated, and gripping his face for a final kiss, she exploded around him – screaming his name over the music until he followed shortly after.

Placing her on the ledge, he knelt to lick her juices from her legs – cleaning the evidence of her arousal, but it made her hungry again. Hungry for _him._

“By the Cauldron, will it never end,” she gasped.

“It hasn’t for me,” he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at her with his signature smirk. “You controlled your light this time. Is that a testament to my performance? Maybe I should try harder next time.”

_Next time_. The idea sent a thrill shooting through her.

“Probably for the best,” she said, taking his hand and hopping down to readjust her dress. “Despite the commotion out there, I’m sure a burst of light wouldn’t go unnoticed among the revelry.”

“Right. _Then_ what would you tell people?” A hint of sadness diluted his voice.

“The truth, I suppose.” Because she would. It was bound to come out among the circle eventually, and she was forever ruined when it came to human males. They tended to frown upon a woman relinquishing her virginity to another before marriage. That, and the pesky fact that she wasn’t _human_ at all anymore.

He peered up at her while redressing. “And what truth might that be?”

She smiled at him this time, unguarded and playful. “That I got what every female was vying for tonight. _You_.”

“If I knew you preferred winning at some unspoken competition, I’d have employed someone previously to play your game.”

“You’re not a prize, but you’re still someone to be coveted. You must know that,” she responded. “Take it from me. I’m a very observant _creature_.” She winked and crossed the threshold, moving the cart of bottles back to the wall. “Oh, and you still owe me ten new pairs of underwear. There’s a shop up the road with a trough of frilly things that might be nice.” She shrugged noncommittedly.

He bowed at the waist, laughing as he descended. “As you wish, goddess.”

Nesta couldn’t remember a time when she’d smiled so freely, and as she again dove into the wave of moving bodies to meet back with Mor and Elain, she let the unfamiliar joy envelop her.


	8. Chapter 8

“I have _never_ had such fun in my life!” A sweaty, drunk Elain was an amusing act to watch Nesta thought as she covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

They had left not five minutes ago to make the trek home, cool air whipping past them to clean the evidence of their fun from their skin. Azriel scuttled forward, looking like a worry-ridden handmaiden as he chased Elain through dancing zigzags. Mor and Rhys clutched each other tightly and spoke in hushed tones, but looked back to where Cassian held Nesta’s own hand on his arm, and smiled in unison.

“If they didn’t know before, I’m sure they do now,” she murmured to Cassian, who lowered his chin an inch downward to listen.

“Observations are not truth set in stone,” he replied, lips quirking upward into a smirk.

“So poetic tonight. My very own philosopher,” Nesta said, lips grazing his ear. “Tell me, will you write sonnets about me?”

He hooked a finger under her chin to meet his gaze. “I’ll dedicate my life to writing our story if you wish.”

She felt a blush bloom across her skin and looked down shyly. What was it about this male that made her the opposite of herself, while still the same person she always was. Stubborn, but demure? The idea was alarming. New, but not at all unpleasant. “If we survive what’s coming, that is.”

He sobered and dropped his hand from her face, looking onward to his friends. “I’ll ensure you make it out of this.”

“And what of you? Who will make sure _you_ make it out?” Life without Cassian’s assessing gaze, faith in her, snarky comments, words that set her on fire? She’d welcome death before she saw the last of him. Before she could tell him though, he responded.

“I’ve lived a good life, Nesta,” he paused with her on the bridge, eyes cast along the rippling river before looking back at her with so much determination it made her regret asking in the first place. She didn’t want to hear this, and shook her head to hint she wasn’t ready to hear his testament, but he continued. “I’ve fought many days, but laughed even more. I’ve found family. I’ve found a home that’s accepting of me, while at the same time not patronizing me for the warrior people assume I am every day of my life. They know I’m more than strength and steel. They’ve fed me, clothed me, fought alongside me, loved me. I’m the luckiest person in the world,” he ended, smiling sweetly at her while tracing the curve of her jaw with tentative fingers. She wished she could record this moment to show everyone who ever doubted him that he was more than they thought. More than any other male she’d ever met. “Plus,” he finally added, now looking into her eyes. “I found you. I’ve had the chance to see you smile at me like you are now. What more could I ask for?”

Nesta reached up to trace her own smile before placing the hand along his cheek, feeling the scruff scrape her palm. _You could ask for a life of smiles, and I would give it to you_. “Don’t speak with such finality, Cassian. I have a lifetime of smiles saved up. I’ll let you know when I’m finished… _then_ you may die.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and she felt her smile broaden. “So stubborn,” he whispered, tucking the stray curls behind her pointed ears. “So beautiful. So strong.”

Maybe it was the lights, the scenery, the sounds of the city – maybe it was him, in this moment. But everything culminated to make Nesta feel weightless. A bubbling hope welled up inside of her and it was almost too much to handle. The thought that there was a possibility of not having nights like that again spurred a single tear to escape and trail down her cheek.

“I think about it too,” Cassian whispered, kissing the tear from her cheek. “It will never be enough time, but I’ll take what I can get.” Lips trailed kissed across her cheek to the corner of her mouth, asking without words for permission to further its advancements.

Nesta gripped his hair in a rough grasp and dragged his mouth to hers, desperate for him to eat her sadness. Sadness over the thought of losing _him_. She was in a mess, now. This feeling was undeniable. And maybe the realization allowed her to fully release the pent-up sob in the back of her throat. He caught it and kissed her until all she felt was his kindness, his compassion. His love? She didn’t dare hope… not even when her heart had firmly placed itself inside of his own. She knew in that moment that if he died, she would too.

But how do you tell someone that, when you’ve wasted your efforts, your time, shielding yourself from him and attempting to convince him that you’re not worth his time? She wasn’t sure.  

“You know,” he said suddenly, pulling back to look at her, mischief dancing along his shadowed eyes. “They prize me as a fighter mainly for my flying abilities. Care to join me?” He held a hand out as he stepped back to give her the choice.

She looked at his outstretch palm, weathered and rough from years of battle, and then up at his innocent smile and encouraging gaze. Smiling at him, she shrugged and said, “Well, since you’re so egotistical about your own talent, I suppose you _have_ to show me now.”

That garnered another chuckle, and he stepped into her, gripping her around the waist before expanding his wings and beating off the ground and cutting them both into the air within a second. Nesta gasped and gripped his arms, so he tightened his grip and leaned to her ear. “Worried I’ll drop you?” The hint of mockery in his tone was unmistakable.

“Maybe the other females you’ve done this with were afraid of your carelessness, but I think I can handle myself,” she said over the wind.

One, two, three more beats of his wings and they were soaring over the skyline of Velaris. It was beyond beautiful. She took a mental snapshot to save for later, and then looked back at Cassian’s smirk and took another.

“I’ve never taken anyone else,” he replied into her hair. “Not like this.”

A giddy laugh escaped her lips and he banked and retracted his wings to roll them into the sky. It was like dancing, but so, so much better.

“It’s my favorite dance in the world,” Cassian said, encouraging her arms to wrap around his neck.

“How long have you been prodding my mind to find out what I’m thinking tonight,” she asked, huffing.

“It’s easy to do when your defenses are lessened. Happens when you’re happy. We should probably practice tonight, before the feeling fades.”

“My, you’re forward this evening, aren’t you?”

“Only confident,” he replied with a smirk and did another roll below a shelf of clouds.

“And if I _don’t_ want to bed you tonight? What if what happened at Rita’s was a lapse in judgement.” Nesta was breathless, looking up at his now-black eyes, both from flight aerobatics and purely him.

“If you tell me no, I’ll honor your wishes. But…” He ran a finger along the seam parted along her thigh and found goosebumps now pebbling her skin. “Will you say no, my sweet Nesta?”

“No,” she whispered.

He chuckled darkly. “No to which question?”

This was a dangerous charade to continue, fun or no, when she risked becoming his plaything… and not the one he felt for as she felt for him. But she was an addict now. There was no going back. Not for her. “No, I won’t say no.”

Cassian cursed under his breath and sank his teeth into her shoulder. “I want to completely consume you. I’m insane,” he growled, as much to himself as to her. Then he banked hard which sent her stomach flying into her throat, and flew in circles above the townhouse, landing softly in a secluded area the back garden among dozens of flying lightning bugs and the song of frogs and cicadas.

She spun while finding her footing and gazed along the scene, greens and yellows, and _light._ “It’s… magic.” Their own secret garden.

She felt his heat before she felt him unclasp the back of her dress, slipping the straps from her shoulders and letting it pool on the grass. He drew in a sharp breath which caused her to glance behind her. He stood, clenching both his fists and his jaw and his brow shaded his eyes so heavily she could hardly tell he was looking at her. “You are,” he started toward her, reaching a palm out to her again, but this time to draw her close to him. Close enough she felt the creases of his dress shirt against her nipples. “You are so beautiful.”

“Touch me again,” she whispered, smoothing his frown lines with her fingers.

He seemed to take a steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, he glided his hands from shoulder to back to hips and looked up at her when he landed at the clasps of her shoes. She nodded and he hooked a hand under her knee to bend while he slid each off, until she was completely naked for him. He looked up at her reverently. “You look like an angel. My own personal angel.”

Nesta’s chin quivered with unspoken emotion and she placed a hand under his chin to urge him upward. When he was aligned with her once again, she began unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it back to reveal the planes of muscles she was beginning to become familiar with, while still finding a new soft spot to touch. He finished the task by reaching back to undo the clasps around his wings and discarding it to the side as she made quick work with his pants, stooping to untie his shoes as well. Glancing up, she silently asked for permission to remove the last garment he still wore. He nodded stiffly, restraint coiled in his muscles, and she slid his underwear down as well. Here they were equal. Among the sounds, the moon.

She looked down to wear he had sprung free, and wrapped a hand around his soft member. He groaned in response as she pumped once, then twice – a bead of liquid dotting his head. She leaned forward, ravenous to taste him in any way she could. Wrapping lips around him, she spun her tongue around him, savoring the flavor. Mentally, Nesta was collecting a bank of tastes from every inch of his body.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he choked.

She smiled around him, and slid him further into her mouth, garnering a sob from his lips as he tangled his fingers into her hair. He smelled, tasted, felt like adrenaline and male… and Cassian. It was driving her crazy. She was mildly surprised there wasn’t a puddle of her own excitement on the ground beneath her. Seeing him like this… it affected her in a new way. A wildly possessive way. Thinking any other female had been with him, done this to him made her see red.

“Nesta,” Cassian seethed, gripping her hand on his thigh hard enough she steadied her gaze up at him. “I meant for you to slow down, not _look_ at me while you did it,” he chuckled. “That’s worse.”

Releasing him from her mouth, she kept him in her hand and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Worse? What would you have me do?”

He leaned down and picked her up from the ground high enough that she had to grip his shoulders. After encouragement, she wrapped her legs around his waist until he fully carried her. “Worse in the way that I won’t last long with your eyes looking at me doing… that. Fuck, I’m going mad. I…” He stopped himself, taking another steadying breath before once again leveling his gaze on her. “I need to be inside of you. Please.”

“Well since you asked nicely…” Before she could finish her thought, Cassian slid her down onto him. She gasped and scrambled for purchase along his shoulders, roots of his wings. It had never felt like this before.

He heaved breaths, for a moment just clutching her while he was inside. Not moving, not speaking, just breathing. He inhaled a final breath along her neck before taking her face in a hand and guiding her mouth to his own. Soft, shy glances of his lips were not nearly enough. Not when pure, unadulterated joy was coursing through her veins and since she had no way to say the words she felt, she sucked his lip between her own and bit, running a tongue over it to soothe the bite and doing it again and again.

Cassian knelt to gently lay her across the grass, blades tickling her back before he lifted her butt and wrapping her legs around his waist again. Gripping her hips, he thrust into her again and again, never breaking her stare.

She lost the unspoken game as her eyes began to roll in the back of her head. The feel of hands enclosed her breasts and rolled her nipples between deft fingers and she opened her mouth in a silent cry.

“Try to block me out,” he grunted.

Metaphysical fingers stroked her wall of stone around her mind, and she added layer upon layer until she could no longer feel the fingers at all. Doing so was near impossible as she felt her own traitorous body announce its impending release. A crack sounded along the wall, allowing a shaft of light to escape… a lantern guiding him home.

He followed the call, and she peered inside with him. What was there was him. It had to be at the forefront because he was with her, inside her, all around her. But he was there, sure enough – smiling, joking, angry with her, the moments she caught his gaze across the room, training, bathing together. Secret smiles. Her thoughts of unworthiness when she saw his worth. Encouraging her when she thought there was no future with this new body, this new world.

Still moving, now furious or exhilarated, she couldn’t be sure… he saw it all. How he alone changed everything.

Fingers withdrew from the fissure as they both retreated from her mind, and she blinked into the darkness to see him staring down at her. His eyes lit with lightning bug glow, dancing like stars.

Every part of her was tainted with him and when he whispered, “Come with me,” she broke into a million pieces, strewn to the wind, calling for him to collect them. It would take a lifetime, but every part of her would find its way back to him and she was willing to wait. As long as it took for him to feel the same.


End file.
